


Vignettes of Comfort

by jehanjetaime



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Crying, Gun Violence, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Multi, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, POV Third Person Omniscient, Smoking, Transgender Akira, just a series of one shots, transgender Kurusu Akira
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-11-21 15:28:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11360289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jehanjetaime/pseuds/jehanjetaime
Summary: Just a series of self-indulgent one-shots (not relying heavily on the plot of the game) of various Persona 5 characters comforting Akira after he is attacked on the way home from work.





	1. Take Him Home (Mishima)

**Author's Note:**

> Each of these stories follows the basic plot of: Akira is attacked on the way home from work; one of his friends helps and comforts him.
> 
> It may change a little, from less serious to more serious, with each story, but the basic plot is the same.
> 
> First up is Mishima, my personal favourite.
> 
> ((These are written for me and my preferences, which means that in all of these, Akira is a trans guy.))

“Kurusu.” His voice is soft and gentle from across the classroom, which cleared out very early on a Thursday afternoon. “Kurusu, are you alright?”

Kurusu Akira - transfer student, so-called-criminal, and leader of the Phantom Thieves - was still sitting at his desk near the back left-hand side of the room. He hadn’t stood as the rest of class left the room for cleaning duties, after school jobs, or home. In fact, he hadn’t moved at all. Not his hands from where they were folded around his phone in his lap, not his shoulders from where they were tensed and solid, nearly touching his ears, not his eyes from where they glassed over as he stared at the desk in front of him, or at nothing at all.

Mishima Yuuki stood from his seat in the other corner of the room and approached him slowly. This was his friend, a guy he respected and admired (maybe more than that), and though Mishima had seen him in many different ways, this was new and a little scary. As he stepped into the aisle, the phone Kurusu held in his hands vibrated, lighting up red and white.

Surely, that would rouse him.

Yet Kurusu did nothing. Mishima approached him slowly, worried that he would need to call an ambulance. “Kurusu?”

He reached out and tapped the desk right in Kurusu’s field of vision. Still, there was nothing. So Mishima touched his shoulder, lightly.

Kurusu jumped back, chair nearly toppling, hand going for his glasses. His chest was heaving and his eyes were near wild.

“Hey, hey...it’s alright,” Mishima said, instantly lowering himself into the empty chair in front of him, where Takamaki usually sat. “I’m sorry, didn’t mean to scare you…”

“Oh...Mishima. It’s. It’s okay...fine. Sorry.” Kurusu was trying to control his breathing, but Mishima could see memories of himself in those eyes, from when Kamoshida had been king of the castle and Mishima had feared for his life every single day. He had never, ever wanted to see anybody look that way.

Especially not someone he was a little in love with.

Kurusu pushed his glasses up and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sorry, Mishima. I was just thinking about...things.”

“PT things?” Mishima asked, just in case someone was lingering near the doors.

“Yeah…a little,” Kurusu let his glasses drop back down, and Mishima felt his cheeks tighten at the soft smile that graced his face. That smile faded after only a moment. “Hope I didn’t scare you.

“It’s alright.” Mishima responded with a smile of his own. But he could see the tension still in Kurusu’s shoulders, the bags under his eyes, the lack of light in his gaze. “Here, let me...you mind if I touch you?”

Kurusu blinked, and Mishima thought he was surprised. “Oh...I mean. Yeah, if you want.”

Mishima could hardly believe his...luck? Bravery? Foolishness?

“This is something I found online, when...I was in pain a lot,” he said. “Me and a couple of the other volleyball players learned a little about massage.” He stood up and wedged himself between the back of Kurusu’s chair and the desk behind him. “It’s supposed to be good for stress relief, too.”

Kurusu’s shoulders were like stone; Mishima felt as if he were touching a statue instead of a person. “...this is crazy,” he muttered as he worked his thumbs into that marble-made-flesh. “Is this from all what you do for...work?”

“Not all of it, I guess,” Kurusu said. Normally he was quiet in the “not much to say” way. Today, he was quiet in the completely muted way. “But mostly, yeah.”

Mishima felt more than heard the groan from Kurusu as his hands found a particular sore spot. He made sure to concentrate the efforts of his self-taught massage there. “You must do a lot, huh? I never really knew exactly what you DO when you’re working, but it has to be stressful. And then you’re at school all day, and I know you have some real part time jobs...all of that on top of being on probation has to be taxing, isn’t it?”

“Y-yeah.”

Mishima didn’t know if he felt or heard the sob first. But he knew that Kurusu was crying, one hand rising shakily to cover his mouth. Kurusu, who was always brave, strong, who held Mishima up, who was his rock, was crying. Sobbing. 

“...it’s alright,” he said, for what felt like the hundredth time. “Go ahead…”

And as Kurusu let it all go, the sorrow, stress, fear, whatever, crashing over him in waves, almost a palpable thing, Mishima slid his hands down over those tense shoulders, around them, until his cheek was pressed to Kurusu’s hair. He held Kurusu tightly, and felt one hand close around his wrist. “I-I’m sorry, Mishima, I…”

“Don’t be sorry,” Mishima whispered. “You saw me through tough times, Kurusu. Let me help you now.”

Kurusu turned in his seat, and Mishima moved from behind the seat to the side of it, back towards the classroom doors. He wrapped his arms around Kurusu again, tighter than before, and felt wetness on his shirt as Kurusu took his glasses off and buried his face in Mishima’s chest. The sobs wracked his whole body, and Mishima stroked the back of his hair almost on autopilot. 

The hands on Mishima’s back made fists in the fabric of his shirt. Kurusu took a shuddering breath but it did not calm the way he cried. “I’m right here,” Mishima soothed, things he wished someone had told him when dealing with Kamoshida. “I’m right here for you, don’t worry about anything, you’re okay…”

“Akira?” came a gentle voice from the door.

Mishima turned as best he could without disturbing Kurusu-kun, who froze at the voice. Takamaki was standing there, face red, watching them. Kurusu’s weird cat was in her bag, his little head poking out, and Sakamoto watched from over her shoulder.

“Uhm,” she said, glancing back at Sakamoto. They took in Kurusu’s red, tear-stained face, the way he clung to Mishima, and rushed into the room. “Akira? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

No answer. She turned to Mishima. She demanded, “Is he okay?”

Mishima cradled the back of his head, reluctant to let him go. “...I don’t think so, Takamaki. I really don’t think so.”

______________________________________________________________________________________

They sat Kurusu on his bed at home, and the cat jumped right into his lap, meowing incessantly. He looked embarrassed, something Mishima wasn’t used to seeing on him. They had held hands the entire ride home, Kurusu unwilling to let go of him completely. Mishima sat on his bed now, an arm around him despite the way Sakamoto was watching.

“You can all go home,” Kurusu said. “You don’t need to -”

“Like hell we don’t,” Sakamoto said, voice rough with worry. “You’re not looking right, dude, you haven’t looked right for DAYS, I was just sayin’ to Ann that somethin’s UP with you. So here’s your chance. Spill it.”

But Kurusu said nothing. He shook his head and rubbed his temples with one hand. 

Takamaki took a tentative step forward. “Akira, please. I’ve...never seen you cry like that. If something’s wrong, you can tell us. We’re here to help you like you’ve helped ALL of us. So if someone did something, or there’s something weighing on your mind...tell us.”

They all waited, Mishima rubbing Kurusu’s knuckles with his thumb. 

“I was mugged,” he finally said, and Mishima instantly did not believe him. “Coming home from work at Crossroads.”

“Dude you WORK at that place? In SHINJUKU?” Sakamoto rubbed the back of his head. “No wonder you got beat up, that place is SO dangerous. Don’t let Makoto know, she’ll kick your ass.”

“Not that it’s your fault. Shouldn’t get attacked just ‘cause of your work.” Mishima said quickly.

“Yeah, well. I did. Scared pretty bad, Lala drove me home because I just went back to work, and…” He shrugged. “Guess I’m still shaken.”

“When did this happen?” Takamaki asked after they all listened to that weird cat meow for a little bit. They always stopped talking when the cat meowed, like they were talking to it. Weird.

“Saturday night.”

It was Thursday. Something was not right about this.

“Anyone know about it?” Sakamoto asked, fiddling with a frayed spot on his jacket.

“Just Lala. Boss wasn’t here when I got home so he didn’t see me…” Akira sighed and pushed his hair back from his face. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

But they weren’t having it. Takamaki and Sakamoto disappeared to find some food, taking the cat with them, and Kurusu lay back on the bed, looking blankly up at the ceiling. 

Mishima still held his hand.

“Anything you wanna...tell me? About when you were attacked?”

“No.” Kurusu’s voice was raw.

Unsure of what to do, Mishima leaned back on the bed as well. There was a moment of silence and stillness before Kurusu rolled a little bit, head coming to rest on Mishima’s shoulder, arm wrapped around his middle. “...this okay?”

“Yeah,” Mishima said, freeing his arm just to wrap it around Kurusu’s shoulders. “I’m really sorry that happened to you. You’re safe. I...I know I could never do much, but after how you protected me so many times, I’ll protect you.”

Then there was a hand on his cheek, his head was being turned, and there were lips on his. Trembling, needy lips.

All in all, not how he had ever imagined kissing Kurusu. But he would not waste it, and he would not deny this poor, scared guy the comfort he was clearly seeking. This was not Mishima’s first kiss, but it was the first one that had ever made him feel like his soul was ready to burst from his body.

He expected the kiss to stop.

It did not.

As Mishima returned the sign of affection, Kurusu held him closer, held him tighter, kissed him at one angle, pulled away, kissed him at another. Mishima did not know how to move his mouth, but it was clear that Kurusu did; jealousy seeped into Mishima’s joints, jealousy over this person who had kissed Kurusu before him.

It was nearly a full minute of kissing before Kurusu pulled back for good. “I’m...I’m sorry, I just…

“No one ever offers to protect me,” he said. “And I like you a...a lot. I have since the moment I first saw you. I really, really liked you. And it’s only gotten worse...or better.”

Mishima responded with a kiss of his own, gentle and unsure as he always was.

“I think I love you,” Kurusu whispered against his lips. “Yuuki.”

Every bone in his body turned to mush. “What...what’s a nothing like me have to offer the leader of the Phantom Thieves?”

“Everything no one else can. Safety. Softness. Someone who...really understand me.”

Mishima’s face was on fire. “Then, uhm...Akira.” Wow. The name was like a foreign fruit on his tongue, forbidden and sweet. Something he wanted to taste over and over again. “I think I love you, too. You’re someone I looked up to, and then it became more, somehow. I love you, too.”

And Kurusu - Akira now, forever - finally, finally did what Mishima had been trying to get him to do all day. He smiled. It was a small and watery thing, but it was there, and it was true. But it faded. “...can I tell you what really happened?”

“Of course.” Mishima held him close, hand in Akira’s hair, and listened as the guy he loved whispered a story he did not want to hear to into his ear.

______________________________________________________________________________________

Akira was grateful for his friends, who had gone all the way to the diner to get him his favourite dinner. He was grateful for Mishima, who held him, comforted him, and took some of the burden of what had happened. 

Mishima, who had held his hand tightly that night, even as they ate, who didn’t care when Ryuji gave him that look. When they were alone, Akira would have to explain to Mishima that Ryuji was acting as any brother would, keeping an eye on someone who was clearly very close to Akira.

They all sat together to eat, and to watch a couple DVDs. Well. Akira supposed the others watched the movies - he dozed against Mishima’s shoulder, finally able to get some sleep in the presence of his friends. He hadn’t slept well since that night.

At some point, he must have fallen asleep deeper, and for longer than he thought, because when he woke the room was lit only by the TV, and Ann and Ryuji were gone.

But laying next to him on the bed, scrolling through social media on his phone, was Mishima. Akira’s vision was a little blurry, and he reached up to push his glasses up only to find they were gone. 

“Sorry,” Mishima said, setting his phone down. “When you fell asleep I took them off so nothing happened to them.”

“Where are Ann and Ryuji…?” He moved his feet, and felt Morgana curled up in a little ball down at the other end of the bed.

“It’s late, they went home. I told them I would stay until you woke up.” He rolled onto his side to face Akira. “You were out.”

“I haven’t been sleeping well.”

“Can’t blame you.” Mishima wrapped his arms around Akira, tucking that fluffy head underneath his chin. “But it’s okay. If you want to go back to sleep, go back to sleep. I’m right here...maybe for the night. The last train just left.”

Akira turned his head so he could hear Mishima’s heart beating in his thin chest. “Sorry.”

“...I’d rather be here,” Mishima said. 

He nodded and muttered a thanks into Mishima’s shirt. “That means a lot. You mean a lot.”

They fell into silence again, and Mishima traced little patterns into Akira’s back. Everything was warm and soft, even on this rather sad cot being passed off as a bed, and Mishima was content to lay there for the rest of his life, holding Akira close.

“Does this mean we’re…” Mishima asked, voice only halting a little.

“Boyfriends?” Akira asked. The word made his fingertips tingle. “I think I would like that, if you would.”

Mishima took a deep breath. “Yeah. I think I would.”

Akira tilted his head up and kissed Mishima’s chin. He inched up and preseed his forehead to Mishima’s, eyes closed. “Ryuji’s going to give you a talking to, you know. If you’re okay with me telling him.”

“...will he be angry? Does he not like...people like us?” Gay people. Mishima didn’t know if he could say it yet. But he knew he was. He was gay, the boy in his arms was gay, and they were boyfriends. It was terrifying; it was thrilling.

But Akira shook his head. “It’s not that. He just worries about me.”

“I’m glad someone has been.”

Akira kissed Mishima again, clutching him close.

They didn’t let go of each other for the rest of the night.


	2. Figure It Out (Akechi)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akechi this time! Picked at random because I couldn't decide who to do next.

“A-akechi…” he found himself whispering. Akira was standing at the end of the alley leading the way to Leblanc, which was closed. It was pouring out, but that didn’t hide the blood on Akira’s face, his torn clothes, his dead eyes.

Akechi, who was peering into the dark interior of Leblanc, turned. At that voice, he plastered a smile on his face - Kurusu Akira was someone that he was very openly fond of. That smile faded, however, when he saw the bruises on Kurusu’s face, the blackening of the flesh around his eye, the blood dripping from his nose, the split lip. He broke out into a sprint to the end of the alley, stopping just in front of Kurusu. The other just looked at him, and Akechi realized that his glasses were gone.

“Can...can you maybe…?”

Kurusu didn’t seem to know what he was asking, but he fumbled in his pocket and pulled out his keys. With a shaking hand, he held them out; Akechi took them without any hesitation and helped him, hovering over each slow step to the cafe. He unlocked the door and made to switch the light on, but Kurusu shook his head. “Just...let’s sit here.”

They sat in the middle booth, and Kurusu dropped his head into his hands. Akechi watched him for a moment, illuminated by what was left of the streetlights outside.

When Kurusu hiccuped, the sound morphing into a sob, Akechi couldn’t help himself. He reached across the table and took Kurusu-san’s wrists. Gently, he pulled his hands away, revealing that bruised, bloody, and now tear-stained face. “Kurusu, who did this to you?”

“Just...some guys who saw me leaving work.”

His hands were shaking so badly that Akechi stood up and broke cafe protocol by going behind the counter. He found a fridge and in that fridge, a bottle of water. He brought it back to Kurusu and sat - but this time, he sat next to Kurusu instead of across of him. Akechi even unscrewed the cap before pushing the bottles into Kurusu’s hands. His quick eyes took in blood underneath the nails, but no wounds on his knuckles. This guy had fought back, but these were only defense wounds - nothing to indicate that he had attempted to hit or strike his attackers.

Kurusu took a small sip. Then surprised Akechi by taking his hand. “Sorry, I just - “

“No need to be sorry,” Akechi said. “Anything you need, Kurusu, that I can provide, please. Let me know.”

The way Kurusu clung to his hand set a fire within Akechi - someone had hurt his friend. This selfless person who put everything on the line to save those who could not fight for themselves, who spent his own money and risked jail time to protect the little guy, who arranged flowers and read books in his spare time...someone had seen this beautiful soul and saw fit to hurt him.

But why?

Kurusu took another sip of water. “Sorry if you were looking for another cup of coffee. Boss isn’t here.”

“I am thrilled to have been here when no one else was. Thank god someone was here to help you…” Akechi turned to face him, freed his hand only to slide an arm around Kurusu’s shoulders. “I am so sorry that someone hurt you. I will find them.”

“You really sound like a detective…” Kurusu turned to Akechi and leaned against him a little, then tilted his mouth up, just so, to whisper. “I work at Crossroads in Shinjuku. Some drunk guys - not guys even, they were men, grown men - they saw me coming out and thought I looked gay, and...here we are.”

That fire blazed within Akechi. “Did they hurt you anywhere else?”

“Kicked me a lot. Thankfully I didn’t have Morgana with me, don’t know what they would have done to him.” He raised a hand, seeming unsure, then wrapped his arm around Akechi. “I was...pretty scared. You know that I can’t risk fighting back, they’ll throw me in jail if I got caught, and I’m not as strong in real life as I am in the Metaverse…”

Akechi had never heard Kurusu say so much in one go before. But he was breathless, helpless - with anger, with the softness of Kurusu’s breath on his ear, the sound of his voice, the way he held onto Akechi, clung to him - and did the only thing he could think of to do.

He held Kurusu-san around the middle, gently to avoid hurting him further, and gently stroked the back of his hair. After a moment, Kurusu-kun rested against him, all but melting into the embrace. Akechi held himself back from kissing the top of Kurusu’s head, even if that was all he wanted to do. “Should we bring you to the hospital?”

“No, no -”

“I’m sorry, but you may have internal bleeding,” Akechi said. “Please, at least let me see, I have a modicum of knowledge when it comes to things like this.”

Kurusu contemplated his face for a moment then nodded. Akechi tried once more to turn the lights on and Kurusu let him do as he would. When Akechi turned back around, Kurusu had stood as well, and removed his jacket and shirt.

The skin underneath his clothes was a motley of bruises -  large, dark, and angry. Akechi raised a gloved hand to his mouth, expression going from shock to an angry set jaw in a matter of seconds. Some part of hims were bloody, but mostly it was bruising. The men who had done this were the most despicable sorts of wretches Akechi could conjure up in his mind. He looked over Kurusu’s chest. Too thin, that was clear - he didn’t think Kurusu was eating enough, or at least not properly. Thin pink scars underneath his pecs, curving in from each side, up towards the middle. There were other scars on his arms. A lot of them. Too many, crisscrossing on his wrists and all the way up. Bruises there, too.

Akechi wanted to throw up. Instead he just looked his friend over, until Kurusu took a step backwards and folded his arms over his chest.

“Forgive me,” Akechi said. “I did not mean to make you uncomfortable. But with the ferocity of those bruises, I must insist that you see a doctor.”

Kurusu sighed and pulled his shirt back on. “Alright. But we’ll see Takemi - she’s just a block away or so.”

“Anything you say,” Akechi said. And he meant it.

 

* * *

 

When Akechi returned with Kurusu, there was a veritable crowd hanging around outside the cafe. Haru was the first to notice them, and she covered his mouth to hide her gasp as she took in the stitches on Kurusu’s lips and the heavy bruising on his face. “A-Akira!”

She ran over to him on her tiny feet and took his face in her hands. “You poor thing, what happened to you?”

Ann was automatically at her side, and eyed Akechi suspiciously. “Yeah, what happened?”

“No...no, he helped me. Akechi took me to the doctors after I was attacked…” Akira slipped his hand into Akechi’s, and it was instantly clear that everyone noticed. Makoto eyes the connection.

“You should be sitting,” she finally said.

 

* * *

 

Only when Kurusu had been brought upstairs at Yusuke-san’s gentle hands and changed into his pajamas did everyone join them. Akechi, often one to stand and allow others the chance to sit, immediately sat at Kurusu’s side. He slipped an arm behind Kurusu and rubbed his back a little.

“You know students are discouraged from taking jobs in that area,” Makoto said, but it clearly was not an admonishment. “I will really make sure that our peers are careful if they go into that section of the city from now on…”

“Don’t worry about it - it wasn’t just a mugging. It was a hate crime.” Kurusu sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Ryuji, who had been sitting, stood up, fists clenched. “This happened ‘cause you’re -” And then he stopped, looking around at everyone there. “I mean…”

“Yes. Because I’m gay. I don’t think they knew, but I work at a bar - I know, Makoto - under a drag queen, so…” He shrugged, then winced. “So yeah, hate crime.”

Akechi could tell with a glance around the room who had known that Kurusu was, in fact, gay. Ryuji, clearly, had known. Ann. Futuba. But Haru, Makoto, Morgana, and surprisingly Yusuke seemed as if they had no clue. Well. Everyone knew now. But Kurusu didn’t seem upset that Ryuji had outed him.

He just leaned against Akechi. Immediately all eyes were on him. “So,” Haru said carefully, “Does that mean you...and Akechi?”

Kurusu shook his head. “No, he just...happened to be here, and I guess maybe I look just pathetic enough -”

“Kurusu, you don’t look pathetic because you are not at all pathetic.” Akechi couldn’t stand to hear him talk that way. “You can hardly hold yourself up, is all, and I do not wish to see you fall.”

Everyone noticed that Kurusu just sagged against Akechi. “I think, perhaps, that he needs some rest...”

“Agreed,” said Morgana. “We’ll let you sleep.”

With lots of hugs (and a manly squeeze on the shoulder from Ryuji), everyone cleared out. Even Morgana went out, which Kurusu admitted was a rarity. The cat said he had something to do, and made Akechi promise not to leave; Akechi gladly agreed. He got Kurusu laying down, then pulled the chair from the end of his bed around so he could sit at the head of the bed.

“Sorry,” Kurusu said, surprising him. “...for not telling you I was gay.”

“You don’t have to apologize to me,” Akechi said, pushing hair from Kurusu’s eyes. “That’s something only you can decide on. And...well. You’re not alone, Kurusu.”

His heart jumped into his throat; Akechi had never come that close to telling anyone.

Kurusu just nodded, and took his hand again. “Thank you, Akechi…”

“Of course,” Akechi said. “Go to sleep, alright? I’ll be here when you wake up.”

A small smile played over Kurusu’s lips just briefly. But his eyes were fluttering closed, and after a moment he was breathing deeply, lost to the world. Akechi did not let go of his hand, but he did pull out his phone with his other hand. He was going to figure out who did this, so Kurusu could go about his day without feeling threatened.

He deserved that much, at least.

Akechi could do that much for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	3. A Breath of Calm (Ann)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This time it's Ann!

“If you get caught smoking, they’ll send you to jail without a second thought,” Ann’s voice said through the fog of cigarette smoke, pain, and shame. “You know that the smallest thing will get them on you. All that work to keep us from getting caught and you’re going to throw it away to ruin your lungs?”

Akira could see just her red shoes - blurry, without his glasses, but with feet that small in those red shoes, it could only be Ann - as he sat in the under construction section of Shibuya’s underground walkway, hidden by lumber and with a cigarette between his lips. It had been easy to buy it off someone in the backstreets and with how he was feeling, he needed something to occupy his hands, his time. His throat was aching inside and out, and he didn’t want to even look at Ann, or respond to her. But he knew he couldn’t just ignore her. Before he could think of what to say, Ann snatched the cigarette from him and ground it to dust beneath her sneaker.

He looked up at her, and he knew he must have looked like hell because her expression went from disappointed to horrified. Ann immediately got to her knees and took his face in her hands. Had it been anyone else, Akira might have pulled away. But this was Ann, one of his best friends and the girl he was just realizing he had a crush on. Pride should have kept him from letting Ann see him this way.

But more often than not Ann was a breath of calm in his tumultuous world. She was a relaxing presence, and right now maybe he needed that.

Either way, it was too late. She was taking in the puffiness around his eyes, the tired look of his gaze, and of course, the ring of fresh bruises around his neck. Ann ran her eyes all over him, then looked into his eyes. “Akira, what...what happened?”

“Wrong place at the wrong time,” he said.

Ann shook her head and wrapped her arms - gingerly - around his shoulders. “If you tell me who did this, I’ll make sure they never walk again.”

He chuckled a bit, but it was dark. “Sure it’s not pathetic that I couldn’t defend myself?”

“You made it out alive, so you must have done something -” Her voice broke there, and Akira felt her shoulders jump. “S-sorry, that’s a stupid thing to say, isn’t it? Geez, you’re the one who l-looks like that and I’m the one crying! You just looked...scared. Like I’ve never seen…”

Akira wrapped his arms around her too, lowering his legs to lay flat on the floor so he could hold her close. “It’s okay,” he said, a few more stoic tears dripping down his own cheeks. Had anyone ever before been so concerned for him that they cried? “It’s okay, I’m okay…”

“Like hell you are!” Ann pulled away, hands still on her shoulders, looking very much like her usual self already. Then she noticed the wet trails down his cheeks. Her thumb intercepted one tear and wiped it away.

That one gentle touch, after what he had been through, opened the floodgates. Akira turned his face into her touch, feeling Ann’s hand open until she was cupping his cheek. He closed his eyes and placed his own hand flat against hers, feeling her fingers both under his own and against his cheek. More tears ran down his cheeks, under her palm, between her fingers, between his own. Akira took a shaking breath and, for once, let himself cry.

After a moment, Ann settled onto the ground, her legs over Akira’s thighs and on either side of his hips. Had he not been so far gone, Akira might have been embarrassed by the position. But then her arms were around him again, drawing him close, urging him to lay his head on her shoulder. The smell of her perfume mingled with her shampoo, and that in itself was so familiar and comforting that Akira felt at home. Ann rubbed his back as he sniffled against her. One hand came to rest on the back of his neck as he put his hands on her hips. “G-god, Ann, I feel like an idiot.

“Got myself in a stupid situation and couldn’t get out of it.” He gripped her skirt tightly with one hand; the other slipped around to the small of her back. “I’m supposed to be better than that. Stronger than that.”

“Who says?” Ann asked.

Akira didn’t know how to answer that.

In his silence, Ann got the answers she needed. “Who says that you need to be better, stronger? Even before the Metaverse and everything, you seemed to have a hero complex.” From anyone else, those words had offended Akira. But Ann was right. When it came to things concerning Akira, Ann always seemed to be right. “But you don’t have to be strong. You don’t have to be better.

“Be whatever it is that will help you feel better, okay?”

“What if I don’t know what will help me feel better?” Akira whispered against the black fabric of her tank top.

Ann stopped moving her hand over his back. “Then just be whatever you are.”

Akira nodded and opened his eyes, then raised his head. “Thanks, Ann. Thank you.”

She shrugged. “Next time, text me. Call me. Something. Don’t just sit there and smoke, alright? Now come on - I think we should get you home.”

* * *

 

They settled together on the couch in Akira’s room, after Ann stopped in one of the convenience stores. She looked around the room and seemed to realize something. “Where’s Morgana?”

“With Futaba. Grateful for that; they would have hurt him, too.” Still, it was weird to be up here without that cat.

Ann rooted through one of her bags and passed him a bottle of melon juice. He looked at it nearly in surprise. “Melon, huh?” he asked, moving the can about in his hand - also bruised and scraped - before pressing the cold can to his bruises. He hissed with the pain, but the coolness was a relief. “How’d you know it was my favorite?”

“You always get it - I have a sharper eye than most people think!” She pulled something else out of her bag, and Akira’s tired eyes could not see the words on the box - especially not without his glasses. “Pain relief ointment, for those bruises.”

“...oh.”

“Come here.” Ann opened the box and pulled out a metal tin. The light glinted off her nail polish as she screwed off the lid. She dipped her fingers in the ointment and looked expectantly at him. “...can I?”

Akira would have blushed had the pain not been so overwhelming. He undid the first couple buttons on his shirt and pulled the collar away to give her better access to the bruises. “Yeah, alright.”

Ann’s eyes ran over the bruises again and she shook her head. Her hand was gentle as she chose a spot to start rubbing the ointment into his mottled skin. Akira sighed and held his drink in his lap. “What happened?”

“...you know I don’t like bullies. Some high schoolers were picking on a young kid and I sort of lost it. One of them jumped on me as I tried to break it up. Choked me out. I think I threw up on one of his friends, though.” Akira closed his eyes once more, let Ann rub that cooling cream into his bruises.

“I think they would have done more if some people hadn’t come down the alley.”

They both let the weight of those words sink in.

“Moment they let me go, I ran - didn’t want any cops showing up.” He sighed and turned his head one way for her.

“Yeah, they would have made it your fault somehow.” Ann had never been as disgusted with adults with so-called authority as she had been lately. “I’m proud of you, though. Really - I mean, don’t get me wrong, it was stupid and _you_ shouldn’t have been the one to do it, really. But. I really admire that you did it.”

His cheeks did turn pink that time. With her hand on his neck, and the words she was saying, Akira couldn’t help it. “...thank, Ann.”

She stopped rubbing the ointment into his skin, hand now on the back of his neck. Ann looked over at him with those clear blue eyes, then leaned close. The first kiss was on the corner of his mouth. The second was full on the lips. It was brief. It was chaste.

Akira couldn’t believe his luck.

When she pulled away, Ann just looked at him shyly.

“Was that because you’re proud of me, or because…?” He raised a hand and waved it around vaguely. Akira couldn’t put the words in the way he wanted too, but he could tell by Ann’s pink cheeks that he didn’t have to.

“Can...can it be both? Is now an okay time for me to…” She repeated the hand motion.

“Not just because you feel bad for the guy with a necklace of bruises?” he half-joked.

“Not at all. I like you better when you’re not risking your life, actually. It’ll keep you around longer.” Ann smiled, but Akira could tell she was nervous with the way she flicked one of her pigtails behind her shoulder.

“It’s okay,” Akira said, leaning forward to kiss her, soft as before. “For you to whatever this is, for me to whatever this is. It’s okay. I really...I really like you too, Ann. A lot.”

She smiled, pinks cheek, and the light from her bliss was overwhelming in the best way possible. Akira was still scared. He was still feeling a little shaky, a little nauseous.

But when Ann kissed him, he knew that he could handle anything.


	4. Gentle (Yusuke)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ah, Yusuke. I feel like he smells like lilacs with a hint of turpentine.
> 
> I tried a little different style this time; it felt right.

Akira was a vision, laying in the early morning sun, dappled with the shadows of softly moving leaves. His lips were parted just so. His eyes were closed, each long lash curling up from where they almost touched his cheeks. His hair was a mess, sunlight playing off each curl and whorl of inky black. Yusuke was stunned. Yusuke was breathless.

Yusuke was terrified.

Because Akira should not have been asleep in the park, on a bench hidden in some trees, at 5 in the morning. He should not have been wearing clothing that was torn and mussed. He should not have been without any sign of his phone, or his bag, or Morgana. And he should not have been sporting two black eyes, a nose that was mangled and crooked, and a hand that was hanging at a very unnatural angle. He should not have been coated in blood.

He dropped his sketchbook in the dirt and ran towards the bench. The panic filling him did not match the serenity of the morning. “Akira!” he called out, falling to his knees at the side of the bench, resting his hand on his friend’s chest. Breathing. “Oh, thank...thank EVERYONE...Akira, wake up, please, please…”

But there was no answer. Yusuke went from calm and composed to taking a deep breath in avoidance of letting himself dissolve into sobs the way he wanted to. Because Akira was deathly pale, his glasses were long gone, and he was blood-soaked.

And Yusuke did not know what to do.

He pushed hair from Akira’s face, avoiding that nose, until he noticed the red around Akira’s scalp, as if someone had been yanking on his hair. Yusuke felt his stomach contract, as if he was going to be ill. But he couldn’t do that.

All he could do was sit next to Akira, make sure he was breathing, and pull out his phone to make a call.

 

* * *

 

It was one of the most terrible experiences of his entire life, sitting in that waiting room while the doctors did what they could for Akira. Futuba sat next to him, quietly, leaning her head against his arm. She had come with Sojiro, who was talking to one of the nurses and getting the details sorted out.

Yusuke just sat there, ignoring the buzzing of the phone in his hands and trying to banish from his mind the image of Akira, bloody, hurt, and unconscious.  
  


* * *

 

 

By the time a doctor came out to talk to them, it was after lunch, and everyone else had arrived. Haru sat on Yusuke’s other side, encouraging him to eat. “Boss said you’ve been here longer than him and haven’t eaten anything at all.”

She placed a small store-bought bento box on his lap and even opened it for him. “Here...please eat. It won’t help anything to sit here and worry yourself sick…”

“I...thank you, Haru,” Yusuke managed to get out. “But I am not feeling very hungry.”

Ann - who’s struggling bag indicated Morgana’s presence - was sitting across from him. “You found him?”

“Indeed. He was in Inokashira Park, and I was there to take advantage of the beautiful morning…” He hid his eyes with his hand, and felt Haru’s hand on his shoulder.

Makoto was tapping away on her phone but clearly listening. “It’s fortunate that you were; anything could have happened if you had not found him. I only hope…”

Her voice faltered, and they all looked up at her, but Makoto just shook her head and sat down. All fell quiet, and Yusuke retreated into his own thoughts. But all he could think of was Akira and the way his body had been mutilated.

 

* * *

 

When Akira blinked his eyes open, he did not know where he was. There was beeping. There were pinpricks of light in an otherwise dark room. And there was pain. There was so much pain. His face was on fire. His hand, strapped to his chest, felt as if it was in a vice. Everything hurt.

He t ook a deep breath through his mouth, but even that left his nose burning, made his breath hitch in his throat. He swore, his voice raw and tired. Akira didn’t remember anything. Well, that wasn’t true. He remembered getting ambushed on his way home from work. Maybe he remembered getting on the train, missing his stop, and just...going. Going to wherever.

But that was it.

He tried to move and groaned. A hospital room. This was a hospital, he knew the sound and smell. But how? Where?

What had happened to him?

“Akira?” came a voice from the dark. A square of light illuminated the dark, and suddenly Yusuke was there, beautiful as an angel, lit from below, glowing with heavenly light.  Now Akira could sort of see the rest of the room. But that didn’t matter, not at all.

Because Yusuke was there, now and that was all Akira could concentrate on the morning. Yusuke rushed towards him, coming to rest by the side of the bed. “You’re alright now,” he said, taking Akira’s uninjured hand. “You’re at Hitotsubashi.”

“...why are you here?” Akira asked, the first of the million questions floating around his mind to make it to his mouth.

“Because I couldn’t stand to leave you alone,” Yusuke whispered, squeezing Akira’s hand. “Everyone was here, but the hospital would only let one of us stay. I found you, and I...suppose that I wanted to make sure you would be...I don’t. Alright.”

“Sit,” Akira said, and Yusuke perched on the edge of his bed. “You found me? Where…?”

“Inokashira Park. You were on a bench, and...I thought, for the briefest of moments, that you were dead.” Yusuke swallowed a lump in his throat. “I called the ambulance, everyone came...and now we’re here. Do you need anything? Shall I fetch a nurse?”

Akira shook his head, then seemed to regret the decision. “No, no. Just...stay with me. Please stay...I think I remember a long time of being…

“Just stay.”

So Yusuke did. He held Akira’s hand and sat at his bedside, in quiet conversation or in silence, until morning’s first light.

 

* * *

  
  


It was a relief to go home. Akira slid into a booth seat just after noon, Yusuke right after him. Futaba sat across from him, Morgana unhappy to be in her arms.

“The others wanted to see you,” Sojiro said as his busied himself with making food, “but I told’em you needed some time to rest first.”

“Alright,” Akira said, still feeling a little dazed after his morning meds. His left arm was in a sling, his wrist and forearm carefully casted. His head felt heavy and full from the way his broken, bleeding nose was oacxked and held straight with gauze. And he was tired. He was so tired, enough to lean against Yusuke’s shoulder. Yusuke did not hesitate to wrap an arm around him.

“So,” Futaba said after a long moment of quiet. “What happened?”

The relief in the room at the question was almost thick enough to touch. Akira sighed and closed his eyes, body aching. “Don’t remember much. I was jumped on the way home from work, missed my stop on the train...they took everything I had or I lost it, I don’t know.”

“That’s fine. Don’t strain yourself, kid,” Sojiro said, bringing him a glass of water.

Akira just muttered, ‘alright,’ again.

 

* * *

 

It was Yusuke who brought him upstairs after they all had something to eat. Sojiro had brought him clothes to change into, and those were what he slept in. Yusuke sat on the bed with him, hand gently over Akira’s cast. “Do you want to lay down?”

“No, maybe just. Watch something. Don’t think I could sleep if I tried.”

Yusuke kept the lights low and put on one of the DVDs Akira kept lying around. He returned to the bed and lat against the wall, Akira safe in the corner next to him. Akira leaned his head against Yusuke’s once more and sighed. “I feel stupid,” he admitted. “This isn’t the sort of person I’m meant to be.”

“The sort of person who was taken advantage of?” Yusuke asked, letting Akira take his hand, lace their fingers together.

“Well. You know. I don’t like being seen like this. Especially not by you.” Akira, ignoring the doctor’s instructions to keep his head up as much as possible, letting his head settled into the hollow between Yusuke’s collarbone and neck.

“Why’s that?” Yusuke asked, sliding his fingers through Akira’s tousled hair.

Akira was quiet. He was quiet for so long that Yusuke thought he might have fallen asleep. So he did not press for an answer, just pressed his lips to the top of Akira’s head and fell quiet. After all, Akira must have been exhausted, and who knew what the medication was doing to him.

But finally, with a tight squeeze of the hand, Akira muttered an answer into the dim room. “You like to see beautiful things.”

His words caught in his throat; Yusuke immediately felt a wave of guilt. Was he truly a man so obsessed with appearance that his friend, his crush, felt badly about being seen in such a tortured state because he thought Yusuke wouldn’t want to look at something ugly? Yusuke immediately turned and drew Akira into an embrace. He rocked the other slightly, hardly noticing the motion. “You are beautiful no matter the state you are in. And even if you were the ugliest creature to ever set foot on this planet, Akira, that would never change that I value you.”

Akira wrapped one arm around Yusuke. His voice was thick when he spoke. “Will you stay with me tonight?”

“I’ll stay so long that you’ll have to throw me out with the refuse.”

When Akira looked up at him, Yusuke smiled, gentle.

When Akira kissed him - a soft brushing of the lips - Yusuke kissed back, gentle.

And when Akira settled back against him, against the wall, to let his eyes drift close in the safety of his room, Yusuke leaned back as well. He turned the television down but kept it on to bathe them in softly shifting lights, the shadows playing over the planes of their face.

His face was burning, his heart pounding, and his mind was wondering what it all meant. But Yusuke just sat next to Akira, let him sleep, and held his hand. Whatever would come, would come. For now, he would sit with this angel blessing earth and make sure that he was taken care of.


	5. Strays (Sojiro)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't sure who to do next, so when GlassFloors asked about Sojiro, it was perfect. Also I finished the game the finally so I'll have more time for writing and less time living in Palaces (until I do NG+ of course).

Honestly, Sojiro hadn’t liked the kid to begin with. He came with a record, baggage, and reminded Sojiro way too much of himself at that age. But as things changed, Akira grew on him, and Sojiro actually found himself waiting for the kid to get home at night. Which he usually did, just to let Sojiro know he was going out again, before disappearing with one of his friends. Hopefully not getting into any crap.

So when one rainy night Akira said he was going off to a part-time job, Sojiro had just nodded and continued drying the mug in his hands. He didn’t think much of it as he dealt with the last few customers, closed up shop, and went home to Futaba. Life went on as usual.

Until that next morning, when Akira didn’t come down for school. Sojiro gave him the benefit for the doubt for ten minutes, then wandered to the bottom of the stairs. “Hey!” he called up them. “You’re gonna be late - still school on Saturdays, you know!”

There was a sound from up there, which Sojiro took to mean that the kid had overslept and was finally hauling his butt out of bed. Sojiro wanted to chide him for it, but he had been late to school plenty of times himself, and if he was honest, this was the first time Akira HADN’T gotten up for school on his own. So he shrugged and went back to work.

But ten minutes later, there was nothing. Not even the pitter-patter of angry little cat paws up in the attic.

Curious, Sojiro looked out the front door - no one was coming his way. Big shock. He took that moment to head about halfway up the stairs. “Hey,” he called out again, edge on his voice that was not from anger, but from worry creeping it’s slow way up his spine. “Akira, if you’re up here -”

As Sojiro rounded the last corner, he saw three things. The open window. The plant, blown over from the open window’s breeze. And below that window, an empty bed. It had been raining all night, and Sojiro could see from across the room that the bed was soaking wet.

It clearly hadn’t been slept in. 

Panic rose in his throat like bile, and he pulled out his phone - hopefully they would find the kid soon so Sojiro could really give him an earful.

 

* * *

 

Akira wasn’t far from home by that point. In fact, he had just gotten off the train and was working his winding, slow way not to Leblanc, but to see Takemi. After all, he was thinking he might have broken something with the way his ankle was throbbing and his foot was turned in, just slightly. His whole body was on fire, actually, except for his throat, which was bone dry. All he wanted to do was sit. 

Then, just in front of the second-hand shop, his ankle decided that it was time to sit whether he was ready or not. No one seemed to be around as his leg gave out underneath him and he tumbled to the ground. At least he didn’t hit his head, and he mused on that as he shifted so he was against the wall and leaned his head against it. If Morgana hadn’t been kidnapped by Yusuke for some reason, or if his phone hadn’t been smashed to pieces under some thug’s boot, this wouldn’t be happening. But it was happening, it HAD happened, and now it was all Akira could do to keep his eyes open.

Which apparently he wasn’t doing very well, because what seemed like a minute later, there was someone right in front of him, khaki pants and a black, striped apron taking up his view. He tilted his head up to peer out at Sojiro - Chief, Boss, whatever he was being called - through uncharacteristically filthy glasses. “There oyu are! I’ve been looking all over for you! What’re you <i>doin’</i> down there? Oh...shit, look at your face.”

“Not pretty anymore?” Akira managed to joke, but it came out cracked and raw. 

“Shut up,” Sojiro said, looking him over. When his eyes came to rest on that ankle, clearly swollen above Akira’s shoe, he sighed.

And then surprisingly gentle hands were helping him up. Sojiro got Akira to his feet, then shook his head. “This isn’t good. Should really get you to a doctor.”

Akira knew that. “I can make it to Takemi,” he said, even though he didn’t feel as if he could make it that short walk. “I’ll go there…”

Sojiro was still looking at him almost blankly. And then to Akira’s surprise, the man chuckled in his dry way. “Leave it to <i>you</i> to make friends with <i>her</i>. Alright, I’ll get you there if you promise to let me in on what the hell happened to you.”

“Deal…”

 

* * *

 

One doctor’s visit later - and a group text from Futaba’s phone that Akira had been found and was safe - he had been installed in a booth at Leblanc, sitting sideways with his right leg stretched out in front of him. Futaba had been sent to get a heating pad and other things from home, and Sojiro had locked the cafe door behind her.

“You don’t have to close up,” Akira said, feeling better (if not a little woozy) after visiting with Takemi.

Sojiro rolled his eyes as he turned around. “Like anyone’s gonna want anything to eat looking at your roughed up mug.”

He strolled back to bar and leaned against it, looking Akira over. “So?”

Akira sighed and closed his eyes again; one was beginning to swell. “Came home from work. Well, Was coming home from work, and headed in to catch the Fukutoshin -”

“Fukutoshin?” Sojiro nearly spat out. “Kid, don’t tell me you work in Shinjuku.”

“...yeah,” Akira said, wondering how he kept so many things from so many people but let THAT slip. “Uh, at Crossroads?”

With another laugh, Sojiro went around to the back of the bar and started up a batch of coffee. “Of course you do. Guess I shouldn’t be surprised.” He had been told about Akira’s...condition, and actually admired the kid for being brave enough to go through with something like that. Should have known he’d gravitate to a place like Crossroads. “Lala still own the place?”

Akira honestly couldn’t believe that one. “Yeah...you know her?”

“For a long time.” At least Lala would keep an eye out for the kid. Not that Sojiro thought he should be working at a BAR, but hey. Could be worse. “Alright, so what happened? You get jumped?”

He nodded, then regretted it as pain shot through his head. Between that pain and the medication from Takemi, he was not feeling all there. “Four on one. Got me down, took everything, broke my phone. Don’t know what they wanted, but they left eventually so they must have gotten it. Maybe they would have left sooner if I hadn’t kept mouthing off to them, but I knew if I fought back and the police came I’d get hauled in even if it was self-defense. Couldn’t just let them get away with it, though…”

Sojiro was looking at him with wide eyes, and Akira wasn’t sure if it was because of his story, admitted distrust of the cops, or just because he had never said that much in one go before. “This,” he continued, gesturing to his ankle, “happened when I tripped trying to get away.”

“Shit,” Sojiro said. He sighed and grabbed a couple mugs from the shelf behind him. “Well...it’s good you didn’t fight back - you’re right that the cops will take a kid like you in for next to nothing. But it’s a real mess that you can’t even defend yourself…

“I’m glad you made it back, though.”

Akira looked up at him, surprised.”Yeah...me too.”

Sojiro plopped a cup of coffee down in front of him. “I’ll make some curry, too.”

“Alright. Thanks.” 

When Futaba got back, they had dinner and sat together in the cafe to watch a little TV. Morgana came home and talked Akira’s ear off about getting injured. Sojiro, as alway, laughed it off as the cat just being a chatty guy. But Akira was glad to see him.

As the sun set, Sojiro looked towards the stairs leading to the attic. “I don’t think you’re makin’ it up those stairs tonight.”

“Not unless you sit on your butt and scoot up,” Futaba said, carrying his dish back to the sink for him. That was when Akira really understood that he must have looked like a true invalid. “Like a weird crab. Or a backwards Kayako.”

“What?” Sojiro asked. “No. Listen, why don’t you come stay in the house. You can sleep on the couch, it’s downstairs. I’ll get you some clothes and we’ll get going.”

Before Akira could say anything, Sojiro had disappeared upstairs. But he would have been lying if he said he wasn’t a little pleased.   
  


* * *

 

 

Sojiro helped to lower Akira onto the couch, his bandage-wrapped ankle propped up on the coffee table - sprained, but not broken, not a severe enough injury to warrant a cast. Which, considering Akira’s line of work, was a relief. He fell into the seat of the old couch, worn with years of use but not shabby, and felt Sojiro flop down next to him. “Wouldn’t think a beanpole like you would be that hard to cart around.”

“I’m more solid than I look.” 

They sat in silence for a moment, and Akira mused that he had never been as physically close to Sojiro as he was that day. It was not as weird as he would have assumed, honestly. Morgana curled up in the chair nearby, Futaba was doing something in the kitchen, and Akira found it homier than he had ever felt with his parents.

Then, Sojiro’s hand was in his hair, ruffling it a bit. “You’re a good kid, Akira. You get into some scrapes, but you’re a good kid. Don’t...ah.” He took a deep breath and let his hand fall back to his lap. “Don’t worry about anything for a while, alright? Just keep up with school, and let yourself get better...I’ll handle everything else. Time to buck up and do what I told your parents I would do. You’ll stay here at least until you’re healed and I’ll just. Take care of it all.

“I got my eye on you, kid.”

For once, it didn’t sound suspicious. It sounded, Akira mused as the meds really started to kick in, like maybe Sojiro was glad to have him around.

He found himself growing tired rapidly, and relaxed against the couch. The TV was on, and Akira was aware that Sojiro asked him a question. He didn’t have it in him to answer, and honestly hadn’t even understood the words as words. So Akira just let himself close his eyes.

 

* * *

 

When the kid fell asleep, Sojiro was ready to get up and leave him there. The thing was, something in his back had pulled in a pretty unpleasant way when he was helping Akira onto the couch and the idea of standing wasn’t thrilling to him for the moment. But what kinda ass would he be to let this beat up kid know that Sojiro was hurt from helping him? Even he wasn’t that hard-hearted. Plus, Futaba wouldn’t like it, and at the point she was snoozing on the other side of the couch as well, effectively trapping him between two teenagers. And Sojiro saw that cat eyeing him up - if that thing came over and sat on his lap, he was screwed.

So he settled down with the TV on. Might was well watch SOMETHING.

After about half an hour of mindless TV, something touched his shoulder. Sojiro looked over to see Akira slumped over, dead asleep. And resting his head on Sojiro’s shoulder.

A smile seemed to form on Sojiro’s lips. There was a blanket thrown over the couch behind him, a huge one given to him by Wakaba a long time ago, that he never used. With as little movement at possible, Sojiro pulled it out and laid it across all three of them.

Next to him, Akira stirred a little, and Sojiro hoped he wouldn’t wake. Something about this...well. Something about this SHOULD have been embarrassing, but somehow, it wasn’t. It was alright.

Akira just turned his head, leaving his face closer to Sojiro’s arm, and settled again. But then he mumbled something. Unsure of if he had actually spoken or was just making sounds in his sleep, Sojiro tilted his head to try to see the kid’s face. Quietly, in case he WAS asleep, Sojiro asked, “What was that?”

“Thanks for...letting me stay,” Akira whispered, half whispering, half mumbling since he was clearly not completely awake. 

“Any time, kid,” Sojiro said, pulling the blanket up a little bit higher. He leaned against the back of the couch and felt the warmth of Futaba on the other side. Then, sure enough, the cat came to join them. At least he sat on Akira, who didn’t budge, once more lost to sleep. Sojiro looked at Futaba, then at Akira, both sleeping and seeming so much younger for it. His ragtag team of strays. Just like him, he guessed.

Maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.


	6. Safe Harbor (Ryuji)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This one gets a little graphic with descriptions of sexual assault. Nothing TOO specific, no terms are even used and I tried to be vague, but you can tell what's going on. But just a warning.
> 
> I connect with Ryuji on a soul level, also, so this one is pretty close to me.

If there was one thing Ryuji knew, it was the sound of a fight when he heard one. Even in the late night - almost early hours - in the areas just off the main drag in Shinjuku, Ryuji knew a fight. He himself should have been home, he guessed, but it was very easy to “accidentally” miss the last Saturday night train and just hunker down on an overturned crate near a close liquor store. The next train would be in about four hours, and Ryuji really didn’t want to go home, so there he stayed, pretending to read while really scrolling through the Phan-Site on his phone.

Until there about 2:30am, when the sounds of a fight met his ears. Shouting, shuffling, and unmistakable sound of a fist on flesh. Ryuji liked to consider himself a street-smart guy, and he knew he shouldn’t get into any fights that didn’t involve him. But he was curious, and moved closer to the sounds.

Laughter hit his ears, and something skidded towards him. He jumped out of the way, not wanting to get noticed and not knowing what the unidentified skidding object was. He waited to see if anyone came after it, but no one came out of the alleyway, and the sounds continued.

When the item came to stop, Ryuji saw it was Shujin school bag. It was open. A book about Captain Kidd was falling out, and a phone had fallen out as well. He crouched and snatched the phone without drawing any attention, activating the screen.

On the lockscreen was a picture of himself and Akira taken on the crowded train.

He wasted no time in leaping over the bag and tearing down the alleyway.

Well.

See.

That was his plan. But then he saw just what was going on and his body froze of it’s own accord. Three guys, looking like university students, on a smaller figure. One was pinning the smallest’s arms behind his back. One was holding his head still. And one last one was in front, with his pants around his knees and his -

Ryuji’s roar of anger drew all of their attention at once, but Akira was the only one who didn’t move, because he couldn’t move. Not with his arms pinned, his head held still, and his mouth infuriatingly full. But the others turned to him and the one who was still standing laughed. 

“What, you wanna turn?”

Ryuji didn’t know how he got down the alleyway, but in the blink of an eye his fist had collided with that asshole’s jawline. The guy tumbled to the ground, and Ryuji was on him. He heard the guy’s friends, heard the guy, heard his own fists landing, but above it all he heard Akira retching behind him.

That fueled his rage even more. Ryuji let all of that anger power him as he tore into that one guy. The others did not grab him, and he thought that maybe they had ran.

It didn’t stop him. He was kneeling over the guy as Ryuji hit every single part of him he could reach. He couldn’t control himself, couldn’t see anything but Akira forced onto his knees. Nothing could stop him from exacting revenge.

Until a hand rested on his ankle. “R..ryuji…”

That raspy voice was the only thing that could draw him out of his rage.

He turned around and saw Akira sitting now, leaning against the dumpster. Ryuji felt like throwing up. He immediately climbed off of the guy he had been beating on so he could scramble to Akira’s side. Ryuji didn’t care, he just needed to get to Akira, who looked on the brink. Of what, Ryuji couldn’t say. Just on the brink.

“Hey, man, hey...it’s okay, I got them, you’re gonna be - I…..”

Akira’s face crumpled into tears before he ducked his head to hide it. Ryuji pulled him close, doing the only thing he could think of - just held Akira close. For a moment, Akira pushed against the embrace and Ryuji was completely ready to let him go.

Before he could, however, Akira was clinging to him, shaking, trembling from his very core. Behind him, there was a scrambling and footsteps as the guy got to his feet and stumbled away. But Ryuji just held Akira close, smothering the burning rage in his chest for once.

Because right now, more than Ryuji needed revenge or Akira needed those guys stopped, Akira needed Ryuji to just be there for him. So Ryuji sat in the dirty alley and let Akira cry - silently, but his body was still shaking, and he clearly needed someone to be the rock. Ryuji held him tight and let the waters wash over him.

 

* * *

 

They didn’t go home. Ryuji had asked Akira if he wanted to go home, and Akira had wiped the tears from his eyes then shook his head. So they found their way to a 24 hour coffee shop and settled in the back. Akira didn’t seem to want to talk, but across the table Ryuji held his hand. He didn’t care if the wait staff gave them strange looks - Akira wanted to hold his hand, so they were going to hold hands. Ryuji ran his thumb over Akira’s knuckles, letting the quiet overtake them. Ryuji ordered some melon soda and snacks for both of them, but he didn’t even know if either of them was hungry. Everything sat between them, but nothing was heavier than what Ryuji had seen.

Finally, Akira reached out and took his melon soda, cracking the metal top off with his hand. The grooves of the cap lets a small drop of blood and harsh red lines on his palm. Ryuji took a sharp breath then shook his head. “Fuck,” he whispered. “Fuck, Akira, this is..this is bullsh-”

“Don’t, Ryuji,” he whispered. “Just...shit, please don’t. It...wasn’t that bad. Coulda been worse.”

“Dude, what? I mean, that’s ridiculous! What happened is a fucking shit show and if I ever find those guys they’re not fucking gonna see the light of day again.”

Akira just shut his eyes. “I’ve been through some shit before, Ryuji, this isn’t that -”

“Akira!” Ryuji’s voice was forceful, and drew them attention from over the cafe. But it made Akira open his eyes. They were rimmed with red, and when Ryuji saw that lower lip tremble he automatically regretted raising his voice. “Sorry, I’m sorry…”

“It’s….it’s bullshit, Ryuji, you’re right. This is all bullshit.” Akira took a mouthful of soda, swirled it around, then spit it out into his empty glass.

That broke Ryuji’s heart, and he slipped out of the booth. He slapped down some money and offered his hand to Akira. “Come on.”

“What are we going to do?” he asked.

“We’re gonna run.”

 

* * *

 

Ryuji and Akira took off running from the moment they left the cafe. Just running, with reckless abandon - Ryuji with form, Akira just pushing himself forward. In fact, his lungs were burning. But everything about his body was pain right now.  They had beaten him pretty severely before...everything, so he was in pain. But he was so wound up, and so...so many other things he couldn’t name, that Akira thought running was the best possible thing he could be doing. It was a good way to stop his mind from running away with him. Keep his body moving, his mind still.

But they couldn’t run forever, and both of them used their last spurt of energy to get to the first train of the morning, a couple stops from Yongen-Jaya. This early in the morning, they were able to get seats, and Akira fell against Ryuji as they collapsed in the corner of the train. He was sweating, heaving, aching.

And then Ryuji’s arm was around his shoulders, pulling him tight. “Dude, it’s gonna be okay...you don’t gotta cry…”

Akira didn’t even realize that he was crying. He touched his face and realized that Ryuji was right. There were tears leaking down his face. He didn’t like that...he didn’t like anything about that night.

Right there on the train, he let Ryuji hold him and cried to the rhythm of steel cars rocking on tracks.

 

* * *

 

They got into Leblanc just before opening, and Ryuji helped Akira inside. He waited for him to brush his teeth, then helped him upstairs. Ryuji sat on the couch, but Akira shook his head. “Sit with me.”

Ryuji couldn’t say no. He sat on the edge of the bed, Akira sitting in the corner. All was quiet for a second. Then Akira reached out and took his hand.

“Thanks. No one’s...ever really stood up for me like that. Especially not lately.” He closed his eyes, and Ryuji sighed. “Means a lot.

“Last time this happened to me I was all alone."

Everything in Ryuji seemed to freeze a those words. He felt sick, physically ready to throw up. “L...last time?”

“Yeah…” Akira hesitated, opened his eyes to look at Ryuji, then looked at the floor. His cheeks turned pink. There was a pause so long that Ryuji didn’t think he was going to say any more - and that was fine. But finally he took a deep breath through his nose. “Friend of my parents who stayed with us when I was younger. They didn’t know or...didn’t care.  Don’t know.”

Ryuji should have fucking killed those guys. “That’s bullshit, man,” he said, scooting closer. “I’m...I wanna say I’m sorry but I don’t think that even means anything anymore…”

“No. It does…” Akira finally met his eyes again. “You’re...right now, Ryuji, you’re the best friend, the best...anything I have. Tonight cemented that. Seeing you come barrelling down that alley I was mortified, but so glad.”

“I’ll always be there to keep you safe.  I got your back, dude, I’m never gonna let any shit like this ever happen to you again. Your parents shoulda protected you back then, but I’m gonna protect you now.” 

He turned a little, pulling both of his long legs up on the bed. Akira watched as Ryuji pulled the blanket from behind him and inched forward. Leaving Akira in the corner, Ryuji folded his legs until he was sitting directly between Akira and the door. He took the blanket and threw it over both of them. Light filtered through the thin blanket, leaving them in their own dim world. “You’re safe in here, alright?”

“Safe room?”

“Yeah,” Ryuji said with a chuckle he didn’t really feel. “Safe room.”

He leaned forward, and Akira did the same to let their foreheads meet under the blanket. Ryuji was a little nervous - he had never been in this sort of situation with anyone before, much less a guy - but this wasn’t about him. This was about Akira. He ran one cautious hand through Akira’s hair; pebbles and what felt like broken glass came loose with the motion. 

Akira gripped Ryuji’s jacket. “You don’t...think I’m weak after tonight, do you? Doesn’t change how you see me?”

Ryuji didn’t even have to think about it. “Dude, no way! I think you’re stronger than ever! After hearing what you said, and even after seeing that...that shit,  I know you can handle ANYTHING. Even shit you should never have to deal with. Especially shit like that.”

“Even after I cried all over you?”

Ryuji couldn’t help it. He pulled Akira close to him again, and felt his friend latch on to the embrace. “You’ve seen me in my like worst possible ways, dude. A couple tears ain’t gonna come between us. I guess I’d rather have you cry on me than do it alone. You do so much shit for other people...that’s probably the least anyone can do for you. After everything that’s happened to you, I think you got all the right in the world to cry. It don’t change a thing about you or how I see you. I...I know you’ve been through a lot, dude. And I got you. I got you through it all.

“I’m here for you, Akira. I love you, man, and I’m not gonna let you forget it.”

Akira nodded, then just pulled Ryuji closer. “Stay here.”   
  


* * *

 

It was Sunday afternoon when Akira opened his eyes again. There was a weight on him, but it was more than Morgana. When he looked down, he saw short, tousled blond hair.

Oh. 

Yeah.

Akira tried to ignore that in favour of the guy thrown across him.

Ryuji was sleeping half on top of him, leg and arm thrown over him, head on his shoulder. He was snoring slightly, still completely dressed, and knocked out. Akira rested a hand on his head, then looked to Ryuji’s hand, curled on his chest.

There was a folding knife clutched in it.

Akira’s heart picked up. Was that to protect <i>him</i>?

He set his head back down. Yeah. Something really shitty happened to him last night, something he’d be dealing with for a long time to come.

But this morning - this 2 in the afternoon, actually - Ryuji was there, with a weapon, between Akira and the door, having stayed there all night. Just to make Akira feel safe. Just to keep him safe.

With a sigh, he turned his head and kissed Ryuji's forehead. yeah, it was...weird. But something had been brewing, he thought, between the two of them, and the small affection brought Akira comfort. Ryuji mumbled something in his sleep but moved closer,  tucking his head under Akira's chin and wrapping his arm around Akira's chest. Akira kept his hand in Ryuji’s hair, hoping that no one would come up to bother them.

Akira wasn’t ready to face anything quite yet. For now, all he could handle was laying in bed and knowing that Ryuji was by his side to keep him safe.


	7. Fine (Makoto)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How did this one end up so long? I didn't expect it since Makoto's not even close to my favourite (which isn't to say that I don't adore her).
> 
> A little different this time!

“You’re pushing yourself.”

Makoto could see it in the way Akira held himself, the way he was letting his eyes dart around the crowded street. They were just shopping together, back to looking at used books because when they found themselves leaving school at the same time, that was where Akira had suggested going.

He had looked so tired that Makoto had immediately agreed. But all afternoon, Akira had been tired, distracted, and Makoto feared that he was unstable on his feet. “I think you need to rest. Here, let’s get something to eat. Or at least sit down.”

Not really taking no for an answer, Makoto took his wrist and dragged him to the nearest place to eat - a newer addition to the city, Wild Duck Burger. It wouldn’t have been her first choice, but something nagged at her that Akira really needed to sit down and at the very least have some water. At least Morgana was doing something off with Haru and wasn’t here to beg her for some “fish” burger the place was advertising.

She brought him to a booth and got him sitting before going to order them something - anything - to eat, ignoring his protests the entire time. 

In fact, it wasn’t until Makoto was sitting across from him, pushing food towards him, that she even let him speak. 

“Makoto, you don’t have to do all of this - I’m fine, really.”

She just looked at him, pinning her friend with a stern gaze. “Akira, what are your plans tonight?”

“Finish up here, then go to work,” he said, wary. And rightfully so.

“And tomorrow?”

“We need to get into the Palace, or Mementos. Then I have to meet with someone, or maybe go to work if Morgana will let me, I don’t know -”

“I know.” Makoto, feeling very much like she did at home when she had to force her sister to take a break, unwrapped his straw and pierced the top of his cup with it. “I know what you’re doing. We’re not going into the Metaverse at all tomorrow, and you’re not working. You’re going right home from school and you’re relaxing.”

She immediately felt as if she were being too harsh, but Akira just laughed a little. “Does it have to be home? Maybe you and I could do something together. Or you know, everyone.”

Makoto tried not to let her cheeks turn pink at the thought of Akira asking to spend time with her two days in a row. “Let me see. I’ll ask everyone. Is there something you want to do?”

He thought for a minute, playing with his straw. “Maybe the planetarium.”

“We can do that. I’ll let everyone know.” Makoto took his burger and pushed it closer to him. “And you...you. Well, you just eat something! That’s an order.”

Akira smirked and Makoto’s heart beat doubled. He took the burger and started to unwrap it. “As you wish...your highness.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was no hiding her blush that time.

 

* * *

 

She knew that she shouldn’t be doing this. Makoto had spent time with Akira, and they had gone their separate ways.

But Akira hadn’t gone his usual way when they left each other at the train. Instead of heading for the line to take him across the city, Makoto watched him slip seamlessly into the crowd of people who were going uptown. Why would he be going uptown? What was up there for him?

Her desperate need to know meant that, after forcing herself home, eating dinner alone, and opening her school bag, Makoto sighed and shut the thing again. Did it matter where Akira had gone? No. Did it matter that he said he was going home then went somewhere else? Absolutely not.

Did Makoto need to know where he had gone?

Of course she did. It ate at her until she changed out of her uniform, slipped her shoes back on, and slid out of the door. She took the train easily, all the while trying to convince herself that this was unnecessary. Makoto had three talking points for herself that she was running through her mind. 1). It was not her business where Akira went. 2). Wherever he had gone, she would never find it just be going out and searching. 3). Who was to say he wasn’t home by then?

Not that it mattered - she was on her way. When she had service, Makoto shot him a text that she hoped was smoother than it seemed, meant to pinpoint his location. But he did not respond. So Makoto put her phone back in her pocket and cobbled together everything she knew about Akira, pulling the most pertinent pieces of information forward. 

He did a lot, both for himself and as a member of the Phantom Thieves. From what Makoto knew, he had three part time jobs. The convenience store in Shibuya. The Flower Shop in the underground mall. The Beef Bowl Shop at the other end of Central Street. Perhaps he was working - but he hadn’t headed towards Shibuya when she last saw him.

Then, he bought all of their supplies, weapons, and armor for any Phantom Thieves treks into the Metaverse. Where he did that, Makoto did not know. If she was honest, she didn’t want to know where in this city he bought decent enough models of guns, whips, swords, and axes to keep them stock. Maybe he was doing that sort of thing, which posed a problem - as she said, she wouldn’t even know where to begin that search.

Akira was also the sort of person to make friends anywhere he went. Surely he could have been spending time with any of their friends, or someone she may not even know. Makoto thought asking them might make her seem desperate and as if she liked him or some such thing. Which she did, but Makoto did not need that getting out. If he was out with someone she had never met, there was no chance of finding him.

The fact that weighed the most in her mind about Akira, however, was simple. Even when he tried to avoid trouble, trouble always found him.

Where was the most trouble in the area?

Shinjuku. And that was exactly the direction Akira had been heading.

With one last, almost compulsory warning to herself to not do this, Makoto prepared to head into Shinjuku and see what she could find.

 

* * *

 

Akira honestly loved his job at Crossroads. He loved working with Lala Escargot, who had sort of taken him under her wing and let him talk about things no one else really understood. He liked talking to the bar patrons, who had no understanding of him as a criminal or delinquent, no expectations of him as a leader, as a training partner, as a student, as anything. Just the handsome young man who lended an ear and brought drinks he wasn’t even old enough to partake in. 

It was heaven. He loved being a Phantom Thief and he loved his friends. But sometimes Akira just wanted to be a normal guy.

Well, as normal as he could be, with a job like that.

Lala was always sure to send him home before it got too late, and he accepted his pay graciously before heading out of the door. He expected an easy ride home, chatting with morgana, a quick snack, then to go right to bed and sleep. After all - Akira was exhausted.

What he did not expect, standing directly across from the bar, talking with someone in large heels and an even larger wig and trying to not seem conspicuous, was Makoto. She was out of her uniform and wearing that skirt Akira liked so much.

But what was she doing here? Torn between approaching her and ducking away so she didn’t chew him out for being hear alone at night, Akira did absolutely nothing. In that moment, Makoto’s bright eyes shifted to see him. She thanked the person she was talking to and beelined for him.

“What are you doing here?” they both asked, words tumbling over each other. Akira rubbed the back of his neck; Makoto’s cheeks were pink. He gestured to her.

Makoto sighed. “I was looking for you. What are you doing here? At a bar? In Shinjuku?”

“I work here.” Before she could say anything else, he held up his hand. “I had to get a job at Crossroads for one of the website requests.”

“That you finished months ago!” Morgana added. “Now I think he just likes the attention from the middle-aged women.”

Akira shot him a look over his shoulder, but the cat just gave a characteristic chuckle. Then he moved his glance back to Makoto. “Why were you looking for me? And how did you know where to find me?”

“I just...alright, I saw you coming up this way and the curiosity was too much!” She threw her hands up in the air, caught. “And you told me you were going home, so I just wanted to know. Where you were going.”

“Geez, you’re nosy as ever,” quipped Morgana.

Akira blinked at her, eyes brighter but face still tired, grey-purple smeared underneath each eye. “Why didn’t you just ask me?”

“I texted you,” she admitted, then watched him pull out his phone and read the text.

“...this just says ‘Hope you made it home,’ Makoto.”

His heart jumped a little when she laughed, like it had been doing lately. “I was trying to be stealthy, I suppose. I trust you to make good choices, Akira. You just...know how invested I am in the lives of my friends.”

Morgana waved a paw at her. “Nosy, you mean.”

Akira shook his head and laughed. “Come on, let’s get out of here. Lala would kill me if she knew I was loitering.”

“Who’s Lala?” Makoto asked, with a glance back at the bar.

“You’d love her.”

Akira and Makoto walked back to the train station, Morgana hitching a ride. Akira couldn’t even be upset that Makoto had sought him out - he knew that she was, indeed, a nosy person, and that she only did things like that because she cared. At least this time she hadn’t been badly hiding behind an upside-down manga.

Honestly, Akira had not been fond of Makoto when they first met, and even when they first started hanging out and she joined the Phantom Thieves. He had appreciated her help, of course, but he wasn’t sure they would mesh as people.

That was different. Now he had spent time alone with her, they had gone out to eat and he had helped her with Council things. Akira had not only gotten over his original misgivings about Makoto, but had pole-vaulted over them only to land in the large puddle. Soaking wet, he had not caught a cold but caught feelings instead - loads of feelings for Makoto.

So actually, he was a little pleased that she had come to find him. It was nice to just be with her and not feel in a rush like he always did, racing to get here, do that, finish this. Because what Makoto had said before was right - he did too much and wearing himself out. So for now, Akira was content to walk by her side towards the train.

It wasn’t until they got there that Akira realized something. “I left my jacket at work,” he said with a sigh. “My uniform one.”

Makoto have him a flat-mouthed look that he knew was both admonishment for wearing his school jacket out here, and also for leaving it behind. “I’ll come with you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Akira.”

“Makoto.” She may have been stubborn, but Akira was Joker - he always had a trick up his sleeve that he could use to win.

 

* * *

 

Makoto smirked a little, proud of herself, as she walked back to the bar with Akira. She told him about some upcoming event at school as they approached Crossroads. It was a little less busy on the streets, and they stuck close to buildings as they walked. Everyone must have been installed in bars at that point, but there were a few people milling around. As she spoke, however, something in his eyes seemed unfocused. “Akira, this is what I was talking about...you look so far away.”

“I’m fine,” he said. “You do-”

And then there were hands on her, around her waist. Makoto shouted in indignation and saw Akira lunge for her just to be pulled back by a large man with a shaved head. Morgana squirmed out from between Akira and the attacker, wasting no time in going after the larger man’s face; he was promptly swiped aside.

Makoto’s second shout was drowned out with an arm around her throat. “Just do what we say and no one gets hurt, beautiful.”

She would have laughed if she could. Makoto heard the other man demanding money, offering a business deal in the alley just right across from the haven of the bar. Akira said something that she didn’t catch.

The fist that collided with his jaw, sending those glasses skittering away, told her that his statement had been mouthier than men like the two attacking them were used to. She struggled against her captor as Akira went down, nothing like he was in the Metaverse; was that because he had no power here, or just because of the way he had seemed so run down all day?

It was not the time to be thinking about that. As she watched Akira roll out of the way and try to get to his feet before the next attack, she thought about that self-defence class Sis had forced her to take. With that man’s hand creeping up her thigh, Makoto had only seconds to act; channeling everything about herself that made her Queen, Makoto spread her legs wide (and regretted it when the man behind her chuckled and said something about being eager). She turned towards him just a little bit, an innocent, wide-eyed look on her face. Then she swept her left leg around, as quickly as she could, to hook her foot around his right ankle. In surprise, he lessened his grip which meant she had one chance, one shot.

And she took that shot, driving her fist right between his legs. If she hadn’t been so terrified, it would have been the coolest thing she had ever done.

The man went right to his knees and Makoto swiveled. No one was on the street but them, somehow, and she was the only one who could pull the other attacker off of Akira. Her friend had been shoved roughly against a brick wall, one knee in his stomach, one hand around his throat, and the other one reared back for what looked like a third or fourth punch to the face. Makoto only took a second to be baffled that she had gotten away but Akira hadn’t before she jumped into action.

Just as her arms folded around the attacker’s arm in hopes to stop the swing, an echoing CLANG-CLANG-CLANG sounds from behind them. She turned around and noticed the attacker following her motions. A rough chuckle came from Akira when the source of the noise was revealed - a tall, heavy person in a black and gold kimono with heavy make-up and a short purple wig. She (Makoto would assume) was holding together two heavy frying pans and did NOT look happy. In a rough voice, the kind someone only gets from years of heavy smoking and drinking, she growled, “Get out of here, boys; this ain’t the place for you.”

Morgana wound between her legs, looking smug; Makoto hadn’t even noticed him running off.

Apparently those men knew this person, because the one who had Akira released him and grabbed his friend from the ground before yanking him off into the seedy streets of Shinjuku. Akira coughed clutching a little at his chest, slumped against the wall. Makoto went to his side, but he shook his head. “I’m fine.”

“Stop SAYING that, you really aren’t okay!”

“Listen to your little girlfriend,” said the person with the frying pans. “Come on, Akira, let’s get you back inside.”

“...what?” Makoto asked, looking between them, then down at Morgana.

Akira folded his arms over his chest, protecting himself, or hiding himself. “That’s my boss.”

“Oh.” As if that really explained it any better. In fact, makoto thought she was even more confused than before.

This day had really gotten out of hand.

She let Akira’s boss help him across the street and held the door open for them. Morgana jumped up into an empty seat  at the bar, leaving Makoto to watch helplessly as Akira and his boss disappeared into the back. Makoto could here morgana purring, obviously proud of himself for thinking of going for help. How had he even gotten her attention?

“Should take that thing off, sweetie,” was all she heard as Akira was pulled behind a curtain. 

Makoto just looked at Morgana. “What do we do now?” she asked as she stood near the door to the bar, trying to look inconspicuous to anyone who was there as a patron. She wanted to go in the back, but hadn’t been asked.

“Are you friends with our little bar boy?” asked a middle-aged woman sitting closest to her. “He looked terrible, but don’t you worry - Lala will fix him up.”

Makoto nodded and was about to take a seat when a large hand with impeccable nails and heavy rings darted out of the curtain. “Makoto, honey?” called out that rough voice. “Come back here.”

She nodded before realizing that Lala couldn’t see her and darted into the back room with Morgana on her heels. 

Akira was sitting back there, face red beyond any injury and his school jacket bunched up over his chest. He didn’t seem like he wanted to meet her eyes, so Makoto tried her best not to look at him. 

Lala was at a closet, pulling down a white plastic first aid kit. “You got some bruising on your stomach, but I think your face got the worst of it. Just get those cleaned up and I’ll call you a cab to take you home, alright?”

She turned, though Akira said nothing, and set the kit down before looking at Makoto. “What about you, honey, you get it too bad?”

“No, ma’am,” she said.

“Good. Only real creeps would pick on a skinny little girl like you.” Lala patted her on the shoulder, then gestured to the first aid kit. “I can’t leave my customers, but I’m gonna call that cab if you wanna try to clean him up while you wait.”

Something in her voice suggested that Makoto did, very much, want to get Akira cleaned up while they waited. Not that she needed the push at all; Makoto was at the first aid kit before Lala was all of the way through the curtain. She opened the kit and looked through first or some anti-bacterial wet wipes.

“I can do it,” Akira said, and Makoto sighed so hard that she almost cried.

“Akira, no you can’t.” She had found a package of wipes which was now crumpled as both of her hands form frustrated fists. “You can’t do EVERYTHING, and you SHOULDN’T be even trying! I know you, I know that you could have gotten out of that. But what happened?"

  
“I don’t need the answer,” Makoto whispered. “I know what it is. You’ve been pushing yourself too hard, doing too much, and it caught up to you in a really bad way.”

She took a deep breath - in through her nose and out through her mouth. With a smooth motion Makoto opened the wipes and turned to face Akira. “Let me help. Please.”

Akira just nodded, then closed his eyes.

Despite her harsh words, Makoto’s touches to his face were gentle. She cleaned off any leaking blood and a few stray pebbles from when he had been on the ground, then took another wipe to completely go over his face. “I’m used to trying to talk Sis down from taking the weight of the world on her shoulders,” she said as she worked with soft hands. He bit his lip when she got too close to his wounds, but it had to be done. “I know you’re our leader and everything, but we’ll all help you in any way we can. You’re too worn out. What if that had been a worse situation that it was? If you were alone, or not near work, and you were in this distracted, tired state…

“You need to take it easier. I’m worried about you.”

She finished cleaning his face off and took a step back. But Akira kept his eyes closed. Finally, his lips parted. “This stuff needs to get done. I can’t ask it of anyone else - these are my responsibilities.”

“We’re a team.” Makoto looked over his wounds, then started to dig in the first aid kit for some gauze. “All of us are willing to help - that’s why we’re doing this. Our help doesn’t have to stop just because we’re not in the Metaverse. None of us want you pushing yourself this hard.”

“It’s true,” Morgana said. “You don’t sleep enough no matter what I say, you’re always out doing things.”

“Let us help. Give us little jobs, alright?”

Akira finally opened his eyes, one of which was bloodshot. “Alright,” he more mouthed than said. “...alright. I’ll. I’ll do that.”

He looked more than tired. Exhausted didn’t even begin to cover it. “Because I don’t want to be in a place where I can’t protect you ever again, Makoto.”

“Don’t make it about me,” she whispered. “I’m fine.”

“But it’s true.”

She sighed again and took the gauze, fixing it over a torn spot of his cheek and keeping it there with medical tape. Before she could pull away, his arms were around her. Makoto froze a moment, then inched into the embrace. His bundled up jacket remained between them, but if Akira was going to seek out comfort Makoto would never deny him; she let him lean his forehead on her shoulder and gently rubbed his back. “Don’t worry, Akira. I’m a problem-solver. This will be fine.

“Trust me.”

A brief pause. Then Akira shifted a little, turning his head towards her. She could almost feel his smile. “Could we still go to the planetarium tomorrow? You and me?”

“Of course.” Makoto squeezed him tightly. She would take him anywhere he he wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any requests for next chapter?


	8. Untouchable (Iwai)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, Iwai was the most requested by a landslide, I can't blame anyone for that.
> 
> This one got a little crazier than I expected but hey...hopefully it's entertaining.

“Just stay under the radar, kid,” Iwai muttered, leaning against the cluttered desk in the back of his shop.

Akira looked him over; man, if he was 20 years older. Even 10. Damn. He banished those thoughts from his mind and tossed his hair from his eyes. “I pretty much live under the radar.”

That chuckle, more like a chainsaw revving than a laugh. “Good way to go through life, if you can. Now go on, get outta here. Ain’t got time to waste on a kid like you.”

“See you soon, then.” With a saucy salute, Akira bid Iwai farewell and left Untouchable. He was feeling pretty confident about his evening, knowing it had went well and that he was getting even more of a discount. Morgana, safely in his bag, chatted his ear off the entire way through Shibuya.

All in all, this had been a pretty good night.

 

* * *

 

Honestly, at first Iwai had been annoyed by that skinny little nobody coming through and taking up his time with weird requests for things kids should never have been interested in. But he never heard of the kid doing anything illegal with what he bought. At least, nothing he got caught doing. 

Iwai also knew, now, that the things Kurusu Akira bought from him were being used to a standard even he couldn’t complain about.

Kaoru would be jazzed to know about that.

Iwai finished up his work and went home. It was a simple night at home with Kaoru, something he didn’t get to enjoy as much as he should. But he was going to make more of an effort. He thought about seeing if maybe he couldn’t get Akira to hang out with Kaoru a little, take him to the batting cages or SOMETHING. They were only a couple years apart and Akira was a good kid; more importantly, he was a kid with a spine and a sense of justice. Kaoru was doing just fine, but maybe spending some time with a kid a few years older, who really seemed to have a handle on himself, would be good. He’d make a point to bring it up the next time Akira came by.

When a week later, he hadn’t seen the kid, he didn’t think about it. Sometimes he wouldn’t show up for weeks on end. What was Iwai gonna do about it? A kid was a kid. 

A week and a half, and nothing. Iwai didn’t even pass by him on Central Street, which he had done before. Normally, he wouldn’t worry; it wasn’t any business of his what Akira got up to.

But something was gnawing at him. He tried to ignore it, and was doing a pretty steady job.

 

* * *

 

Half a week later - two in total since the last time he had seen Akira, if one was counting, which he certainly wasn’t - Iwai was doing some light dusting just to keep his mind off of things. Their shit country. That Shido guy everyone seemed to be all up in arms about (which he didn’t understand, the guy looked like a tool who collected toy skulls and made stupid sexist videos on the Internet). Kaoru was suffering in English, which Iwai was no good in either. Maybe, a little bit, he was worried about Akira. 

He turned his back on the door and knelt to get something out of sight. Of course, the moment he did that, he heard the door open; always happened that way, didn’t it? “Just a minute.”

“Dad!?” 

Kaoru’s concerned voice jolted him, and Iwai stood straight up. His son was still in his uniform, with his school bag, like everything was normal.

But he was also supporting Akira, who looked tired, almost gaunt, with faded, yellowing bruises under vibrantly coloured new ones running up and down his bare arms, and on his neck. Then Akira looked up and met his gaze; the blackened, swollen state of his eye was magnified through those gigantic glasses.

“How in the hell is THIS flyin’ under the radar?” Iwai grumbled, internally panicked that his old family had come after them after all.

“Well,” Akira said dryly, “I didn’t start the fight, if that helps.”

“Shut up.”

Iwai and Kaoru helped Akira get to the back room, where he all but collapsed onto the closest surface. Immediately, Iwai dragged Kaoru back out into the store. “Tell me what happened.”

Kaoru watched him go over and lock the door before clearing his throat. “I just went to the diner and he was there with like four empty coffee mugs in front of him, covered in bruises just like now. Except I only saw his face, his sleeves were rolled down.”

That was why Akira had looked especially odd to him - usually the kid was wearing a jacket, whether is was his uniform or something else. Iwai shook his head and lit a cigarette despite the look Kaoru gave him, the look that said _You told me you were gonna quit months ago._ “He say anything to you?”

“About what happened to him? No, I just asked if he needed help, he said no. I told him too bad and that if he didn’t come with me I was just going to call you anyways.”

“Good kid,” Iwai said. He was proud of his son for doing the right thing. “Listen, I got it from here - why don’t you get back to the diner and get started on your homework?”

Kaoru didn’t seem to like it, but listened - especially when he was given Iwai’s wallet. Iwai let him out of the store, then pulled down the grate before locking the door again. He didn’t necessarily want to send Kaoru out there again, if this kid had been hurt because of some ancient BS, but thought it might be easier to get Akira to talk if Kaoru was out of the way. He’d make it to the diner just fine; Iwai hadn’t raised an idiot, after all.

His more pressing concern was finding out what, exactly, had happened to Akira.

 

* * *

 

 

He got a bottle of water from under the desk, and a first aid kit, then moved into the back room. Akira was sitting exactly where they had left him, but with his eyes closed and head now leaned back against the wall. He was holding onto his phone, but it was dark. Iwai announced his presence with a sigh. Akira cracked open the eye with the least amount of damage. “Where’s Kaoru?”

“What happened to you?”

“That’s how you answer a question?” Akira asked, with that edge that Iwai liked, that reminded him of himself. “I just...got in something I shouldn’t have.”

Iwai took a drag from his cigarette and looked Akira up and down. He looked much smaller without that jacket. Maybe Iwai had been mistaken in thinking he was old for his age; this kid was hardly more than an ankle-biter. “No shit. But what?”

“It wasn’t anything like what you got into, if that’s what you’re worried about. I just got my ass handed to me last week, then again this week.”

They had what felt to Iwai like a battle of wills. With the kid so beat up, Iwai knew he was destined to throw the match and did so spectacularly, with a hefty sigh and a rolling of the eyes so hard that he thought he saw the top of his own skull. “Fine. Have your secrets.”

He leaned over to reach into a mini-fridge and pulled out a cold pack from the small tray that served as a freezer. “Put this on over your eye,” he said, pushing it into Akira’s hands. He didn’t take his eyes off of the kid until the gel pack was over the worst of the bruising. Then Iwai flipped open the first aid kit. After everything he had been through, he made sure to keep the thing pretty well stocked; not that there was much he could do for bruising. He found a cream for it, and tossed that to Akira as well. 

“...I think I’m bleeding, too,” Akira said, and for the first time, Iwai thought he heard a hint of weakness in that voice. 

He didn’t show that, however, and just nodded as he grabbed a package of gauze and medical tape, as well as bandaids, from the first aid kit. Iwai hoped this wasn’t bad enough that Akira would have to go to the hospital, because he would be a real hypocrite to his own ways if he dragged the kid there for this. He took a stack of napkins from some take-out meal or another and doused it in water from the bottle. “Lemme see.”

Akira hesitated, one hand playing with his dirty collar. Iwai just gave him a stern look. “Remember who I am, kid - I’ve patched up worse wounds than whatever you’ve gotten yourself into.”

With a sigh, Akira stood and turned around. Iwai swore under his breath; there was a gash in his shirt, and blood trickling through to stain the white, red. Akira slowly unbuttoned his shirt but instead of dropping it, just pulled it up to rest underneath his armpits. Iwai didn’t question it, just looked over the cut that stretched, thin but not too long, over the left side of his lower back; it was clearly a switchblade. He’d know the cut anywhere.

“Not too bad,” he said. “Surface wound, won’t need stitches.” 

“I can clean it up,” Akira said, and Iwai was going to fight him on it before realizing that there were any number of reasons this kid wouldn’t want to be touched after a scrape like whatever he had gotten into. So he just gave the napkins to Akira and gave him verbal cues to wipe the cut clean. It took a little folding and maneuvering, but Akira eventually got the gauze positioned and relented, letting Iwai tape it down. 

He let Akira do the bruises, too, and turned around to look through the first aid kit again, half to look for any ibuprofen and half to give Akira some semblance of privacy. There was a bottle in there, and the expiration date was still a year away. Perfect. Only when Akira said he was done did Iwai turn back to him, bottle in hand. Akira had his shirt pulled back down now, and was holding the cold pack to his neck. “...thanks.”

“Sure thing. I was an idiot kid getting into fights once, too.”

“It wasn’t a fight,” Akira said, and this time he sounded very serious. His eyes were hard, and Iwai held up a hand, palm upward, a man asking for more of an answer than that. “It wasn’t. I was jumped last week, and when I didn’t have enough cash on me, they beat me and said they’d be back.”

Anger bubbled up in Iwai’s gut; who the hell would do that to a kid? At least it didn’t sound like anything Iwai’s past had dragged them into. “And then?”

“Well I saw them all around. Think they knew where I lived, even. Saw them in my neighborhood. Outside of school even.” He shrugged. “Got cocky, figured they’d forget about me, or I could...persuade them otherwise.”

Iwai had wondered about that part; this kid was a Phantom Thief, after all. How’d this happen to someone like him? 

“But things got away from me, and I couldn’t. They caught up to me, and...well. Here we are.. I didn’t have what they wanted, they got me, pulled a knife. Barely got out of there.”

He was trying to keep his cool, but Iwai could see the way his hands were shaking. Just a little. With a sigh, Iwai leaned against the table, arms folded over his chest. “You know who they were?”

“Just some low-level wannabe gang, I think. If I knew their names, I could…” Akira shook his head, then drained the rest of the water left in that bottle despite its tepid temperature. “But I don’t, so I need to figure out what to do next.”

“What you need to do is set there and let me think,” Iwai said. He knew how to deal with up-shots who wanted more than they were worth. Because this wasn’t going to go down this way; these assholes weren’t going to harass this kid any longer. Iwai’s fingers just barely brushed the tattoo on his neck.  “You wanna end this once and for all?”

Akira looked at him, then said ‘no,’ quietly. Then again. “No, you don’t have to get involved.”

“Kid,” Iwai said, leaning forward and looking him in the eye. “It’s too late for that

“I’m in.”

 

* * *

 

Akira let Iwai take him home that night, accepting a ride in the back of a surprisingly clean and sporty car with Kaoru. No one was in Leblanc, and he heard Boss in the back. Moving he quickly, he called out that he was back and darted upstairs. Morgana, asleep under the bed with just his tail poking out, didn’t stir. Good thing Futaba had him today and worn him out; she had really taken a shine to that cat.

When he sat on the bed he did so quietly, not wanting to wake Morgana. He unbuttoned his shirt and looked down over his bruised stomach. The worst of it, however, something Iwai was never going to see, was under his binder. Usually he slept with it on, but with this bruising...Ryuji would kick his ass worse than this if he knew Akira was pushing himself with that thing. Of all the people who knew - which was only about five people, in the whole world - who knew that he was trans, Ryuji took it the most seriously. He had done all of the reading, searched online, learned everything he could. For Akira. 

So it was with Ryuji in mind that Akira struggled out of his binder and abandoned it on the bed. It should be washed, but he couldn’t even think about that until he was covered. His chest was covered in bruises, and once it was no longer compressed the pain blossomed outward from there. First, Akira took a shaky breath and palmed the cream Iwai had given him. Yes, he should put this on, but...well, unless he was putting the binder on, Akira didn’t let his hands near his chest. It was too much for him. Later, maybe. He pulled out his pajama shirt and yanked it on, then his grey hoodie over that. What could he say? He was feeling vulnerable. Akira climbed under the covers and pulled his phone close to him. The minute he touched it, the device buzzed. A text from Iwai.

‘Keep an eye out kid. Come by the shop if you see those dicks.’

Akira would have chuckled at the wording alone - exactly how Iwai spoke - but if he was honest with himself, he didn’t feel much like laughing.   
  


* * *

 

 

Two nights later, Akira was feeling shaky after a shift at the Beef Bowl Shop. All night long, he had spotted the men who were after him for something as trivial as money. Akira had money, he didn’t have to worry about that. This was the principal of the thing. He thought that, if he could get them taking he find out at least one name, he could take them down where he was stronger - Mementos. Then they wouldn’t be bothering anyone else, either. 

Honestly, he wouldn’t have been worried if it was just one of them that he had spotted. ONe guy, he thought he could handle.

But there had been three separate guys out there through the course of the night, including the one who had cut him. Now, Akira did not consider himself a coward in any sense of the word. But this?

Well. It made him uneasy enough to send a text to Iwai. It was simple, just ‘3 @ the Beef Bowl Shop,’ because he didn’t know how else to ask for assistance than simply telling him the facts. This would be different, he told himself, if so many people were not relying on him. 

His boss had dismissed him 10 minutes before he sent the text. Only 5 minutes after he sent it did he hear a knock to the employee part of the building. One of his co-workers stuck her head in. “Uhm, Kurusu? A guy who says he’s your uncle is here?”

Then he really could have laughed. The man even came up with an excuse. He thanked his co-worker and went out to the main dining room. Sure enough, Iwai was there, leaning against the window and looking bored while a few of the customers looked on, worried.

“Thank for coming to get me, _Uncle Munehisa_ ,” he teased, his voice light despite the reason Iwai had come.

“Shut your mouth, kid,” Iwai said, but Akira saw the chuckle playing at the corners of his mouth. “Let’s get out of here.”

The moment they were outside, Iwai looked both ways down the street. “When was the last time you saw one of them?”

Akira started to move across the street, towards the alley that led to Untouchable, keeping an eye out as well. None of them seemed to be in the immediate area; maybe he had been hasty. But he did feel a little more secure with Iwai at his side. “Last two passed by maybe ten minutes ago.”

“We’ll just get to Untouchable and work from there, alright?”

“Alright.”

It was simple, really. Just get into the store and leave from there. Akira followed Iwai across the street and down the alley. He glanced at the Velvet Room; Justine did not meet his gaze. At least if things ever got too crazy, he could jump in there. Not ideal, but doable. Iwai pulled out his keys and opened the door to Untouchable. He held it open. “Get in.”

Akira moved past him, and the impending sense of danger did not come quickly enough. 

A sharp pain in his back, over where he had been cut before, and he was sent reeling forward into the store. His vision swam as his head bounced with the impact of his knees on the floor. But Iwai’s grunt of pain hurt way more than that. He hoped that Akira would stay away as Akira pushed through the pain and turned around. There were two guys on Iwai, who looked calm and collected as he slammed his fist into a jaw. Akira would have chuckled if the guy who had pushed him did not drop to the floor and push him back, to the ground, with his arm on Akira’s neck.

He had just been too distracted with Iwai to move quickly enough. With all of his might, Akira pushed against the man holding him down; the silky shirt, leopard print, slid around under his grasp. That STUPID shirt - Akira knew it well.

This was the man with the knife. Akira knew that before he even brought it out. “You think your ex-yakuza sugar daddy can save you? Too late for that - we got you.”

Akira thought about all of the bruises on him. He thought about how a group like this would never involve the police, so he shouldn’t be at any risk if he retaliated. He thought about his friends, waiting for him to lead them. And he thought about how Iwai was over there, fighting for him.

It became absolutely effortless to take his fist and drive it into that stupid leopard-spotted stomach. Akira was able to get the man off of him, but his main goal was to get the knife out of reach. Never mind that he was in a store full of replica weapons, many with blades triple the size of the knife - THAT was the one that had dug into his back, and the owner seemed pretty fond of it. 

He yanked himself up using the counter, while the guy was still on the ground, and made a quick decision to drive his shoe into his head. Not enough to seriously hurt him, just keep him down. Akira was still feeling winded from being knocked to the ground, and wished more than anything that he had the same skills in the real world as he did in the Metaverse - there, he could get knocked down a hundred times and get back a hundred and one. Here, he was just tired, his gun a model in his pocket, and Arsene felt a world away. But Akira was still strong, and after his arrest had a better hold on his rash behaviour. He no longer acted so quickly under stress, thought his actions out more.

Today, that was to lower himself back to the ground and grab the man’s wrist. Akira twisted his wrist around until he had no choice but to grab the knife, then snatched it away. His instinct was to toss it across the store, but that was stupid. So he folded the thing and stored it in his pocket before jumping over leopard print, who was still moaning on the ground, and joining Iwai.

Who was doing very well. One of the guys was on the ground just outside of the shop, looking dazed, and Iwai was wrestling the other one to the ground.

“It make you a big man, huh? Threatenin’ kids?” Iwai growled, and Akira didn’t think he knew he was being watched. “Trash like you makes me sick.”

Then he moved his hands in a quick, expert way that Akira did not think he could ever duplicate, and the other guy dropped, too. He was still alive, coughing once he hit the ground, but looked down for the count. Akira moved over to the door, glancing behind him; leopard print was still down, too. 

“Thanks,” he said, watching Iwai heave. It must have been some effort for him, and there was a pang in Akira’s heart for his own father, who would have thrown him to the wolves rather than fight for him. But then Iwai was on him, holding his face in those rough hands. 

He turned Akira’s head gently every which way, then looked over the rest of his body. “They get you?”

“Not really,” he said. “I got pushed down and he came at me, but I’m alright.”

Iwai sighed and looked at the men on the ground outside. “Let’s get the other one out here and leave ‘em. They’ll wake up dazed but they should be fine.”

Akira nodded, even though at this point he didn’t care if they were fine or not. He helped Iwai move one out of the doorway, closer the first guy Iwai had taken down. That one was sporting a huge bruise to his temple. “What did you do to that guy?”

“...taught him a lesson,” Iwai said. He rolled one shoulder as they straightened up. “Listen kid, I’m gonna make sure punks like these don’t bother you again, you hear -”

A silencer on a gun does not silence it. A normal silencer takes the sound of a gunshot down  14.3-43 decibels, meaning that any shot is plenty audible. Of course, once a gun is shot, even if it is heard, there is hardly any time for a potential victim to move. That is not, usually, the main purpose of a silencer. A silencer is stop a sound from spreading, not to stop a potential victim from hearing it.

So when the man in the leopard print shirt, now on his feet, aimed his silenced gun at Akira and shot, both Akira and Iwai heard the blast. Already in the act of turning, Akira knew that the bullet was meant for him. He knew that it had left the barrel. And he knew that he could not drop to the ground or avoid it.

All of these realizations came to him in a nanosecond. One second, there was a bang; the next second there was pain shooting through his arm and he was on the ground. His ears were ringing, his arm was hot and wet.

And then, there was nothing but Iwai.

 

* * *

 

When he heard that gunshot, a million things ran through Iwai’s head. He was not going to let Kaoru be left behind again. He was not going to let everything he worked for fall to pieces. He was not going to let this punk end things for him. He was not going to let them hurt Akira ever again.

Then the kid dropped to the ground and Iwai’s world spun out of control. He wasted absolutely no time. The man in that idiot shirt aimed at him, but Iwai was quicker. Dropping low, Iwai closed the distance between them in four long steps, coat flapping out behind him. One second he was outside, across the alley; the next second he was under the guy, in front of him, and Iwai’s already bloody fist, knuckles threatening to bust open, sent his head snapping back in a powerful uppercut. The young guy went down, and he dropped the gun. Pathetic; he really was just the worst kind of guy. Before anything else, Iwai picked up the gun.

The butt of the handle against a thick cranium made sure this asshole wouldn’t be standing again for quite some time. 

He dropped the gun into one of his pockets and flexed out his fingers as he stood and turned. Had it really ended so quickly? It seemed ridiculous. But that didn’t truly matter at the moment. What mattered was getting to Akira.

Thankfully, when Iwai got to the kid he was sitting up, leaning against the wall, clutching at his bloody arm. He was pale, though, rocking back and forth a little. Iwai knelt at his side and tilted his face up, bloody hand leaving a mark on Akira’s chin. His eyes were wide and the pupils were dilated, but his face was calm. His nostrils flared as he struggled to breath, though.

Luckily, Iwai was always calm under pressure. “Come on, if you’re gonna have a panic attack you’re not gonna do it out here. But before I can move you, you gotta tell me - did he get your arm?”

Akira nodded, and still seemed to possess enough of his senses to nod. He pulled his hand away, palm bloody, and Iwai was able to get a good look at his arm. It was an instant relief to see through the torn shirt that the bullet had not gone through him, only grazed him. The wound wasn’t deep at all, just kissing his flesh enough to bleed heavily. But Iwai was well-trained - he could tell at a glance that the bullet was long gone and had not gotten close to any arteries. “Good,” he muttered. “That’s good.”

“It’s...good I got shot?” Akira asked, and Iwai couldn’t even begin to fathom what sort of thoughts and feelings were behind the laugh that leaked from his lips.

Not what Iwai had meant, though. He gave Akira a look as he tore the rest of the sleeve away and tied it around the wound. Just temporary. “Well, it DOES mean you scared this guy enough or took a big enough gouge out of his pride that he thought he had to use a gun to get you down.”

That, of all things, made Akira smile. Cocky kid.

Iwai hid their attackers behind the old worn-out bikes in front of his shop. Once the store was cleared out and Iwai made sure that no one was coming to check out that sound of that shot, he brought Akira inside and made him sit behind the register. The kid was still a little shaky and Iwai was pretty sure that once he had time to process what just happened, he would probably be a mess. For the second time in a week, he got out the first aid kit. “Before you came along I used this thing maybe once a year. Gonna charge you for a new one if you start using up all my supplies.”

“Sorry,” Akira said, fingers prodding near the wound. “Next time I’ll get shot somewhere else.”

“Good thinking. Alright, let me see it.”

He untied the sleeve and let it drop the to the ground. The bleeding had staunched a little, which was good. But still…” You want me to take you to a hospital?”

“No,” Akira, said, suddenly on edge. “No, no...too many questions at a hospital.”

The similarity to something Iwai himself had said to a friend, a long time ago - a lifetime ago - was almost enough to knock the wind from his lungs. He turned the sound into a laugh. “How many secrets can a kid your age have?”

“One for every year, it feels like.” Akira let him clean the wound and blood around it the best he could. “If we go to a hospital, they’ll know a bullet wound, they’ll call the cops, and if the cops find out I was near real weapons...let’s just say, probation turns to jail time real quick.”

Iwai’s eyebrows shot up so quickly that they nearly disappeared under his hat. “You? Holy shit, Akira. You’re a wild ride.”

Iwai worked steadily to do what he could for the wound. The responsible adult in him screamed _‘Take the kid to a hopsital!'_ The wild part of him, from long ago, told him that this kid was going places. But it was the yakuza part of him that took over, the part that said you never rat out a brother, you help him on his terms, you don’t break his trust. He got Akira’s arm as clean as he could, then doused the wound in something green and anti-septic. Akira hissed at that and tensed, but otherwise took it well. The wound, once it was clean, was in even better shape than he thought before. No stitches, just a jagged cut that might mean a scar later. But Iwai saw thick scars on the Akira’s arms and wrists already, and had a feeling that adding one more wasn’t going to be the end of his world. 

He took care to wrap the wound gently enough to avoid pain, but tightly enough that the last of the gauze-like bandages from his kit would be able to do their job. Iwai sealed the end with an X of white medical tape then looked into his eyes. “You’re gonna be fine, kid.”

“Yeah, Akira said. “Fine.”

But Iwai saw that look in his eyes. There was a storm brewing inside that kid, and Iwai was going to keep him there until it was over. Iwai left out the back way of the store and got them dinner, called Kaoru and sent dinner home to him as well. Maybe the time alone would jump-start the freak out this kid was bound to have. It didn’t matter how tough you were, or whatever other shit you had been through in your life.

No one reacts well the first time they get shot. Iwai himself had thrown up and slept for 24 hours.

He sat with Akira as they ate, pretty quiet, meals the same shade of blue-grey in the dim lights on the shop. At first, he thought Akira was eating with his right arm at his side because of the pain. But when Iwai moved around to grab some napkins, he could see that Akira was holding something clenched in his hand.

“What ya got there?”

Akira looked down, not even seeming to realize that he was holding something. “Oh.” He gingerly put it on the counter. A folding knife. “Leopard print had it. He cut me with it last time, too.”

Iwai shook his head, and was about to respond when Akira’s hand formed a fist on the counter. “He could have killed me.”

There was no answer for that.

“He could have killed me over something as stupid as money. He could have come after you, or Kaoru, or any of my friends, for money.” Akira dropped his gaze to look at his knees. “Holy shit, I was stupid to think it would go away on it’s own. I’m usually not that fu-”

“Don’t start that,” Iwai said. “If you’re gonna freak out, if you’re gonna throw up, if you’re gonna cry, fine. But don’t start holding all that responsibility for other people’s shitty choices on your shoulders. If you start doing that, you never stop.” 

He thought of Tsuda and took a breath. “So what’s it gonna be?”

Akira looked at him, then leaned back in his chair and put his hand over his eyes. “This is so stupid. I use all sorts of weapons every day as a Phantom g-goddamn Thief, and one gunshot wound gets me like this?”

His voice was thick with tears, and Iwai was honestly relieved. Better to let out whatever bullshit was going on inside then hold onto it until it destroyed him. He sat by and let Akira cry, let him hide behind his hand. That was all that there was left for Iwai to do, anyways.

But when Akira leaned forward and put his head between his knees, Iwai knew that some dam had burst and everything his kid - Phantom Thief, under probation - was holding on to was ready to come out. He didn’t want to disturb him, didn’t want Akira to think that he had to contain himself, but Iwai couldn’t let this kid suffer alone.

“Hey,” he said, sliding out of his seat. When Akira looked up, Iwai took his protective earmuffs off and slid the hat off. He placed the hat on Akira’s head, brim pulled down low over his eyes. The earmuffs, he readjusted a little bit and clamped over Akira’s ears. They blocked out all sounds and would leave Akira with some semblance of privacy. 

Iwai stepped back, but suddenly a hand was holding his jacket. Akira was looking down now, but he had the hem of Iwai’s jacket in a vice grip. He pushed himself forward and the wheeled chair propelled him just a couple inches. Iwai was wary, but let the kid throw his arms around him. Iwai didn’t think he had been this close to anyone in a long time, but he wasn’t about to push him away. Akira buried his face in Iwai’s stomach, arms tight around his middle. He was crying in a way Iwai hadn’t in years, but he remembered the feeling. Helpless. Hopeless. Vulnerable.

The shittiest feeling in the world. Iwai put his hand on the back of Akira’s head and let him cry it out. Tomorrow, when it was light out, when this all seemed grey and distant, when Akira was safe in school or at home...Iwai was going to make sure that he didn’t have to worry about those thugs ever again. He hated guys like that, who had huge egos and lost it when they popped, who took on only people they thought they could beat, who took advantage of people. They deserved to be knocked down a peg, and Iwai would make sure it happened.

He still had connections, after all.


	9. Couldn't Hope For Better (Yoshida)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're calming down a little for Yoshida's. He was actually meant to be chapter 2...and here we are at 9. I went and watched a play through of his link again (because I powered through it when I played, so it had been a while) and it did nothing but reinforce how much I love him.

“Thank you, young man,” Yoshida said one night after his speech had wrapped up, standing at the end of the green subway car. He took the sign from Kurusu, who had seemed oddly on edge all night. In fact, he was peeking around the edge of the car even as Yoshida spoke. “You’ve always been a great help to me.”

“Of course.” But Kurusu’s attention was not truly on Yoshida at that point.

Yoshida turned and looked around the car as well, but saw nothing more that people milling around the park as always. Kurusu usually looked as if he was searching for something, keeping an eye out for an enemy only he could see. It would make sense for this young man, though. His golden-hearted apprentice with too much on his shoulders, who had a past Yoshida had, as of yet, not been privy to. His Phantom Thief. Yoshida had always been too busy for a family, then too disgraced for anyone to look his way, but now...well he thought he might have an inkling of what it might have felt like to have a son. One he was more than a little worried about lately. “What are you looking for?”

Kurusu sighed and rolled his shoulders. “Nothing, I guess. I think I’ll head home now. Have a good night.”

Yoshida bid him farewell, then turned to maybe try a lottery ticket. He could just dismiss Kurusu’s abrupt departure as the whims of the young. There was a short line at the booth in the square, and Yoshida stood at the end of it. He pulled out his phone, the newest model he could afford, to check the news. Say what you would about No-Good Tora, but he was not left behind by the technological age!

There were a good many people still milling around, and Yoshida kept catching sight of them from the corners of his eyes. It was always busy in this park, which was one of the reasons he chose to give his speeches in this spot. Plus, it was so close to the statue of Hachiko, and part of him hoped the proximity would help people tie his name to loyalty and not the mistakes of his past. Perhaps that was why he found such a connection to Kurusu - there were more than enough hints from Kurusu that there were things in his past that were gravely impacting the way he currently lived his life. To be a Phantom Thief, that was almost a given, was it not?

Not that it mattered to Yoshida; he would be quite the hypocrite if he let something like that change his opinion of a person. All he hoped was that Kurusu was going to be able to lead a happy, safe life one day, and put away his habit of always looking over his shoulder. Kurusu was a good fellow, and he deserved at least the chance to live life without worry.

It was a long wait, but Yoshida was second in line when a commotion broke out behind him. As one, everyone milling around the train station, the car, the Hachiko statue - they all turned to see what was going on.

“Pfft,” said the guy in line behind him. “Stupid kids getting into fights; that’ll go on their records.”

Yoshida leaned one way, then another, hoping that one of those “stupid kids” was not Kurusu.

But when he heard a cat screech, he knew it was. Yoshida abandoned his place in line and ran towards the skirmish. There were no police officers there, yet, but he knew it was only a matter of time.

He wanted to say that four on one was not a fair fight, but this was hardly a fight, and with the way that cat was puffed up, hissing, and clawing at anyone that got to close, it really was more of a four on two sort of situation. Four young men on one, who through the swinging fists and taunts, clearly had a pair of heavy glasses and a thick mop of black, curly hair. He was struggling, but not fighting back, which for what Yoshida knew of Akira seemed very true to form.

Yoshida, however, would not let that stand. “Move ASIDE,” he said, voice as powerful as it had ever been during any speech. “Let him up!”

Then all eyes were on him, including those of the these four young - and Yoshida truly hated to use such a word, but - thugs. Yoshida had seen them around before, and knew that they were all over twenty. “I assume none of you wants to go to jail for assaulting a minor.”

Laughter, and that only served to rile him. What unbelievable disrespect. He pushed past them to their victim. Kurusu had sat up, and looked like hell for what he had gone through. His face was pretty bruised, and blood was dripping from his nose. That cat was standing in his lap, paws on his chest, and meowing incessantly. “M’alright,” he mumbled to the animal. Then Kurusu looked up and met Yoshida’s eyes. “...I thought you went home.”

“I certainly am glad that I didn’t.” He looked up and saw that those thugs were gone, being ushered off towards approaching police by a few well-meaning citizens. Yoshida sighed and knelt to get a better look at Kurusu’s face. “You’re hurt, son. How bad’s the pain?”

Kurusu shrugged, but his hand went to his face.

“Does your son need an ambulance?”

Yoshida looked up, confused by the words, until he saw an elderly woman looking down at them. “Oh,” he said, finally realizing that she was speaking to him. “No, I’ll bring him, ma’am. Thank you.”

Kurusu put a hand on his arm. “I don’t...want to talk to the police,” he said. “I need to go.”

Yoshida looked behind him, where to officers had stopped the thugs and were trying to talk to them. He knew that Kurusu had some things in his past; he had only five minutes ago been musing on that. And of course, with his work...yes, it made perfect sense that he wouldn’t want to talk to the police. “Let’s get you up, then.”

He helped Kurusu to his feet, and with the cat following, they ducked behind the station. He was parked not too far away. That would be the best thing, to get Kurusu to where he could sit and then see about bringing him to a doctor somewhere. His car was not in the best condition. But it was good enough for his purposes, and clean. It would do fine. He would have just sat Kurusu down and brought the car to him, but didn’t want to leave him alone.

Kurusu wobbled a bit on his feet but seemed intent on keeping himself standing. Yoshida hovered near him, ready to catch him if he swayed too much. That boy had probably taken too many hits to the head and Yoshida did not want to risk anything.

It was a bit of a struggle to lower the boy into the passenger’s seat, but Yoshida managed before leaning against the green top of his car and looking down at him. “What has happened to you?”

Kurusu looked away. “I guess I got...a little cocky.”

To be young and bold. Yoshida sighed and shut the door, then came around to sit in the driver’s seat. “Should I be taking you to a hospital?”

“No, please,” Kurusu said, readjusting his position and closing his eyes.

“Are you sure?”

“I am.”

Yoshida nodded, remembering when youth stopped him from seeking the help he had needed. “And you don’t want to tell me what happened?”

Kurusu met his eyes, then looked away. Yoshida saw his shoulders jump once, but he seemed to steel himself. He lifted a hand to deposit his bag, and the cat, in the back seat, and Yoshida saw the way he was shaking.  “You...won’t like it.”

“I am already not very fond of what has happened tonight.” Kurusu always seemed very in control of himself, very self-sufficient. Granted, Yoshida didn’t know him TERRIBLY well, but he believed in Akira Kurusu. And he did not like seeing him this way - shaking, bleeding. He searched for a handkerchief, a napkin, anything to help get this kid cleaned up.

After a moment, Akira took a deep breath in through his bloodied nose, out over a split lip. “I heard them talking during your speech, those guys, and after it they were still going. Some of the stuff they were saying was really bothering me.”

He swore, something Yoshida had never heard him do. Akira continued, “They were taking turns standing where you do and pretending to be you, making fun of you. It was disrespectful and disgusting, and I couldn’t listen to it.”

Shock crashed over Yoshida like a wave. “Kurusu, I have been mocked befo -”

“I know,” he interrupted, the rudest thing Yoshida have ever seen from him; tonight was full of surprises. “I KNOW you’ve been through all of that, and that’s why I stepped in. I didn’t start swinging, I just told them to keep quiet and have some respect.

“THEY were the ones who started swinging. One of them said...well, I don’t want to repeat it to you, but something really nasty about our relationship, I told him to shut his mouth when he didn’t know what he was talking about, and he just hit me.”

Yoshida leaned against his chair. “I don’t want you getting into fights over me, son. It was more than enough when you stood up to my hecklers. You should be careful. My name has been dragged through everything you can imagine and more. Don’t risk yourself to defend it.”

“You deserve it, though,” Kurusu said, folding down the sun visor to look at his reflection in the small mirror there. “Someone should defend you.”

“Not when it ends with you bloody and on the ground. I deserve what I’ve been through and I’m the one who can fix it, do you understand? I’m the one who must clean up the mess I made. When I asked you to assist me I never wanted anything like this to happen to you.” Yoshida sighed as he realized that, for once, he could not put into words what he wanted to say. “I’ll ask you one more time if you want me to take you to the hospital.”

Kurusu looked over at him, then to the chatty cat in the backseat. “No…”

A beat of silence.

“I won’t apologize for defending you. I would do it again.”

Yoshida fished out his keys then started the car. “You’re a bold man.”

He pulled out of his spot into the heavy Tokyo traffic, He get a few directions from Kurusu, then they fell into contemplative silence. Yoshida saw in Kurusu not the young man he used to be, but the young man he should have been. Bold enough to stand up for what’s right, with a good heart and a good head on his shoulders, who knew when to get involved and when to step back.

Then again, he didn’t know everything about Kurusu. But he believed he knew enough.

He stopped once, to get them a couple of hamburgers, but otherwise the drive was straight through to Yongen-Jaya. Kurusu cleaned up his face with a few napkins and a bottle of water; Yoshida was glad to see that it was not as bad as it had looked before. He watched Kurusu try to get the cat to eat some of the burger patty - which it staunchly refused. This was why he was a dog person.

Conversation turned to little things during the drive, and Yoshida found out a few facts about Kurusu that had never come out when they were only really working together. Kurusu worked at the flower shop. He was semi-dating one of his schoolmates; Yoshida found out later that it was another boy, met during all of that horrible nonsense with that corrupt teacher. Kurusu was good with his hands, he liked to read, he was taking up gardening.

He even shared a few things about his own life with his young companion. Yoshida had a pet fish because he was not home enough to take care of anything else. He had a dream of owning a flashy sports car one day. And though it had been a long time since Yoshida had dated anyone, his last fling had been wit a young man as well.

They wore matching smiles on their faces after that one small connection.

Yoshida finally pulled up at the nearest street to where Kurusu lived. “If you’re ever in the neighborhood,” Kurusu said as he unbuckled his seatbelt, “Leblanc has the best coffee and curry in the city. No charge for politicians.”

“I just might have to take you up on that.”

Kurusu put his hand on the door handle, then hesitated. “...that woman thought you were my father.”

“She did.” Yoshida had been wondering if Kurusu noticed.

The young man ducked his head again and smiled a little. “And you...didn’t correct her.”

Yoshida leaned towards him a little bit. He took a hand off the wheel to grasp Kurusu’s shoulder. The wounds to his face were not bad, not as vicious at he had previously thought. In a couple days it would be as if nothing happened. He was torn between relief at that, and anger that this had happened at all. But Kurusu did not seem to be in much pain. “No. I can’t imagine that I would.

“Kuru...Akira.  Akira, my brave young man. If you ever need to speak with me about anything, you know how to find me. You have listened to an old man talk unendingly about his own problems. I am ready to return the favor any time you need. _Anything_ you want to discuss, no matter how trivial it may seem? I am your man.”

Grey eyes met his own, and Yoshida knew that there were depths within his companion that might always lay out of his grasp. But there was a light there, too, a spark of hope for the future, whatever that may hold.

They bid farewell, and Yoshida remained in the car until he received a text from Kurusu that he had arrived safely at home. He pulled back into traffic and began the trip home. But in the back of his mind, he still heard that woman from the station. Your son, she had called him. Yoshida smiled over that, then exhaled through his nose. A son, hm? Well. As far as sons went, he didn’t think that he could hope for any better than the young hero who had just gotten out of his car.

 

* * *

 

When Akira woke up that next morning, Sojiro had just shook his head at the bruises and told him to stop getting into shit, then handed him a package. “Found this on the doorstep this morning.”

Akira took the package in his hands, looking at the neat handwriting that formed his name. He opened the box and saw in there a melon soda, a package of chocolate cookies, a candy bar, and some DVD called Kame wa Igai to Hayaku Oyogu, which he had never heard of. There was a note at the bottom.

_“Kurusu,_

_I’ve left you a few things that always make me feel better when I’m under the weather. I hope that they help you as well. Let me know how you’re doing at your earliest possible convenience._

_Always,_

_Toranosuke Yoshida”_

There was even a small drawing of himself and Akira in the corner. Akira smiled and folded the note again, then took up the box.

“What is it?” Sojiro asked. “Some care package from a girl?”

“No,” he said. He folded the box closed. Yoshida hadn’t needed to do that at all. It was beyond. But still. The gesture was nice, and meant more than Akira thought he could say. Akira may have done the things he did because they were right, or he was helping somebody, not for recognition. He had to admit, though. Recognition felt nice. He looked up at Sojiro and smiled, something unguarded and true. “It’s better than that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This whole chapter had "Meet Me Inside" from Hamilton in my head. That's not important or relevant but yeah.


End file.
